


The Blacklist

by Lone Lydia (thunderandlightning)



Category: Fringe (TV), Teen Wolf (TV), The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-27 17:44:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14430837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderandlightning/pseuds/Lone%20Lydia
Summary: Stiles is the new profiler for the FBI, and Peter Hale is on the Most Wanted list. They're going to have to work together, whether they want to or not.





	1. First Day

_Monday, September 28, 2020_

Peter Hale studied the doors of the FBI building in Washington, D.C. He had a lot on his mind, but he wasn’t worried. Worry was best left to other people. He tilted his head back, taking one more look at the bright sky. It might very well be his last one for awhile, if nobody wanted to listen to him. With a deep breath, he walked into the building and over to a security guard. “Hi.” He smiled. “I’m Peter Hale. Would you mind calling up to Rafael McCall’s office and telling him that I’m here and I want to talk?” He stepped back, putting his briefcase down and shrugging out of his coat. He ignored the curious and puzzled expressions on the faces of everyone around him, facing the doors and kneeling down, his hands clasped and resting on the back of his head. 

**

Rafael McCall waited outside the converted warehouse in Beacon Hills, watching as a black SUV pulled up and a younger man got out. Rafe had been working for the FBI for fifteen years, and he wasn’t sure whether he saw that as a positive or a negative. He pushed the thought aside and held his hand out. “Special Agent Rafael McCall.” He introduced himself. “Glad you could make it.” 

Jackson Whittemore shook McCall’s hand, following him into the building. “Glad to be here.” He hoped he didn’t sound too sarcastic. The lighting was dim, four of the desks were pushed together and made him feel claustrophobic just to look at them, and he had a feeling that asking for vending machines or a coffee kiosk would only be met with derision. “It looks like I got here early.” He remarked, his gaze going back to his supervisor. 

“We weren’t exactly prepared to entertain all of Hale’s demands.” Rafael shook his head. “I’m still not sure I know what sort of game he’s playing. He’s been able to dodge us for at least as long as I’ve been an agent, and he chooses today of all days to just walk into the office and turn himself in?”

“It’s definitely bizarre.” Jackson agreed. He eyed the desks again, noting that they weren’t designated to anyone in particular, just yet. He sat down at one, swiveling in his seat to gauge whether or not he wanted to move. It was good enough, so he took off his coat and draped it over the back of his chair. 

Both men looked up when a third walked in, his shoes squeaking on the cement floor. 

Jackson snorted, shaking his head and smiling to himself. 

“Are you lost?” Rafael called out, taking in the wrinkled shirt, the crooked tie and the baffled expression on the newcomer’s face. 

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be here.” Stiles remarked. “I just don’t know _why_.” He frowned at Jackson, then sat at the desk across from his. “Hale asked for me personally to work with him.” 

“Oh, you’re Stilinski.” Rafael nodded. He still wasn’t sure he wanted this green agent, who couldn’t even figure out how to use an iron, to work with him. But he had no doubt that if he dismissed Stilinski, Hale would disappear and never resurface. “I don’t know what your connection is to him, and sources say you don’t have one, but I guess if you did, it would be safe to rule out a tailor or a dry-cleaner.” 

Stiles scowled as Jackson laughed. He glanced down at his shirt, then looked back up at both men. “I was prepared for my first day of work on the other side of the country.” He cleared his throat. “And then I had to take a flight out here with no warning. Let’s worry less about wrinkles in my shirt and worry more about what this nutjob wants, yeah?” 

“We don’t know what he wants.” Jackson stood up. “He won’t tell us anything. He says he’s only willing to talk to you.” 

“So get him on the phone.” Stiles shrugged. 

“We can do better than that.” Rafael smiled tensely and motioned for both of the younger men to follow him through the large room and down a carpeted hallway, where he opened the door to another large room with a concrete floor. In the center of this one, a glass cage contained a wooden chair, and Peter Hale was seated in it. 

“He looks like he’s going to throw up.” Stiles remarked. “I don’t want to see that.” 

“It’s a special precaution.” Rafael explained. “Apparently, he needed a chair made out of a specific kind of wood, and he told the arresting agents to tie him to it with some kind of rope made of flowers.” 

“Rope made of flowers.” Jackson repeated. “Who the hell is this guy?” 

“Peter Hale!” Peter called out, rolling his eyes. “How many times must that be explained to you?” He nodded to Stiles. “Nice to finally meet you. I would wave, but I’m not capable of that right now.” 

“Why am I here?” Stiles asked, taking a few steps closer to the glass cage. “Why ask me to be here? I don’t even know you.” 

“You will.” Peter smiled. 

“My question was rhetorical.” Jackson muttered. He moved to stand beside Stiles. “Peter went to Columbia University, like you.” He glanced at Stiles. “Years apart, obviously. He majored in law and was going to become a partner in his family’s law firm, thanks to nepotism, though he did graduate in the top ten. In two thousand and five, the Hale home, here in Beacon Hills, caught on fire. Most of the family died, including Hale’s wife and daughter. Hale disappeared and was suspected of arson, along with a few other people. Those other people were murdered about six years later.” 

“Boring stuff.” Peter grinned. “It’s not about why _you’re_ here, Stiles. It’s about why I am. You want to take down as many people as you can, don’t you? I have names and connections. I can help you.” 

“What do you want in return?” Stiles demanded. “Everybody wants something.” 

“Nothing.” Peter laughed. “Just a chance to work with someone I think deserves to get what he wants.” 

“That’s bullshit.” Stiles shook his head. “I have no idea who you are, and I don’t care. We have you in custody. Give us something to work with or don’t, it won’t change anything. You’re still caught.” He folded his arms across his chest, staring at the criminal. 

“You want something to work with?” Peter smiled. “Go look up ‘aconitum’ and ‘mountain ash.’ I’ll wait. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“What is that?” Stiles glanced at Jackson, expecting the other man to have the answer, since he seemed to know everything about Peter already. 

“I have no idea.” Jackson shook his head. 

“But you know everything else about him.” Stiles frowned. 

“You went through the training.” Jackson snorted. “You pick a criminal, study them, write a lengthy report about them. Hale was my subject. Who was yours?” 

Stiles’ lips quirked up. “The Sandman.” He bit his lip, reminding himself that a smile was not the right facial expression for their conversation. “Serial killer. Not really in the same line of work as Hale, right?” 

Jackson nodded in agreement. “I don’t think Hale’s the serial killer type, no. He’s got a temper and he thinks he’s God, but he would rather have an expensive glass of wine than get his hands dirty. That doesn’t mean he won’t do it, he just doesn’t prefer it.” 

“So what are we doing here, though?” Stiles asked again. “I profile people. I’ve got a degree in psychology, one in linguistics. I can tell you what someone’s next move is going to be, whether they’re a housewife or a hooker. You don’t need me to profile Hale, and you’ve got him. Case closed, let’s go home.” When he made eye contact with Jackson, he sighed. “It was worth a shot.” 

“His list has a lot of names.” Rafael told Stiles. “We’ll be doing a lot more good if we listen, than if we don’t.” 

“Yeah, I know. It’s just not every day that I get a lights-and-sirens escort to the airport at eight o’clock in the morning.” Stiles rubbed his eyes. 

“You want to know why he wants your help, instead of someone else’s?” Rafael continued. “Think it through and tell me why.” 

Stiles licked his lips. He glanced around, then walked out of the room, back down the hallway, and over to the desk he had claimed moments before. He pulled a notepad and a pen out of his desk, scrawling words across the top page. He heard Whittemore and McCall talking as they approached him, but his mind was on his work. When they were close enough, he didn’t look up, but he interrupted their conversation to talk about himself. “My dad’s a retired cop. I was kind of determined to follow in his footsteps, I just did a more advanced version of that. My dad was military, but that wasn’t for me. Columbia could be a connection, but I’m not the only FBI agent who attended that college, so we can rule that out. You said that Peter likes wine and seems to have expensive taste. I’m fine with a cheap beer, if I drink at all. My clothes are off the rack, clearance if I can find something that doesn’t look like another customer blew their nose on it. He’s from this little town in California, I’m from a big city in New York. He probably just thinks that because I’m new to this, I must be easy to manipulate. He didn’t do his research, even though he expects me to. Are we getting computers in here?” 

Rafael blinked at the sudden change in subject. “We’ve got an IT specialist coming in today. He’s been given a budget and specifications, and he’ll be arriving with the shipment of approved electronics.” 

Stiles stood up and grabbed his jacket. “I’m going to the library.” 

“For what?” Jackson grabbed his own jacket, giving Stiles a confused look. 

“To look up aconitum and mountain ash.” Stiles explained patiently. “I know a lot of bureaucrats like to twiddle their thumbs and get paid for it, but that’s not my idea of a job well done. Besides, I need to find an apartment out here, since it looks like this is going to take awhile, and I can’t do that while I'm sitting around and staring at the walls.” 

**

Hours later, Stiles carried a chair down the hallway and into the room where Peter was being held. He set the chair down, the back of it facing Peter, and straddled the seat. He rested his arms on the back of the chair, studying Hale for a long moment before he spoke. “Aconitum, more commonly known as wolfsbane. You expect me to believe that you’re, what? A werewolf?” 

Peter nodded slowly. “I also expect you to believe that the sky is blue and that the oceans are deep. These are facts.” 

“The sky isn’t actually blue.” Stiles countered. “That’s a light refraction thing.” 

Peter grinned. “I chose you for a reason, Stiles. Have you figured out why yet?” 

Stiles grimaced. “All I know is that you’re having way too much fun with this, and you’re actually insane, on top of - oh my god!” He stood up, knocking his chair to the floor as he backed away from the glass cage. 

Peter smirked around a mouthful of fangs. His eyes glowed bright blue, then faded back to the normal-hued blue they had been before his transformation. As though it had never happened, his fangs and excess facial hair receded. “Ask yourself why a werewolf, a creature with supernatural strength, would let himself be captured and demand to speak with you, and only you. I need your help, and you need mine. Like it or not, you’re going to have to get used to me.” 

Stiles picked up his chair and carried it back down the hall, leaving it where he had found it in a stack of similar folding chairs. “Did any of you see that?” He demanded. “Please tell me that you have the camera feeds up.” 

Danny Mahealani, the tech assigned to the team, shook his head. “Why?” 

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, not sure he wanted to end his career the same day it started, and get himself committed at the same time. “He was just... being a douchebag.” He muttered. 

‘If you can’t handle someone acting like an asshole, you’re in the wrong line of work.” Jackson sipped his coffee and finished the last of his Chinese food. “I’m heading out for the night. There’s nothing else we can do here, anyway. McCall’s got a couple of overnighters coming in to make sure Peter doesn’t piss his pants while we’re resting up for tomorrow. You need a ride somewhere?” 

Stiles shook his head. “I’m going to hang out here for awhile, wait for the computers to get online, maybe look for an apartment if I can get one. If I can’t, there’s always sleeping at my desk.” 

“Yeah, it’s not like your shirt can get more wrinkled.” Jackson smirked. 

Stiles watched Danny plugging in cords. He opened his mouth to offer some assistance, but yawned instead. His eyes started to drift shut, but a hand on his shoulder had him jolting awake. He spun his seat toward her. “Lydia?” 

Lydia smiled. “Hey.” She sat on the desk beside his, and waited patiently as Stiles’ gaze went to her legs. “If you were anyone else, I’d have you fired for sexual harassment.” 

“What sexual harassment?” Stiles scoffed, looking back up to meet her gaze. “I’ve never seen you wear jeans before. All through high school and just about every date we went on in college, you were in a skirt. What are you doing here?” 

“I got a phone call about fourteen hours ago from someone demanding to know anything and everything I could tell them about you, and also, did I know Peter Hale?” Lydia shook her head. “Luckily for me, I have a higher security clearance than you, for reasons I don’t feel like getting into, and I found out where you were on my way to the airport, to come out here and talk. And drive you to a hotel. What kind of trouble are you in, now?” 

Stiles laughed. “You wouldn’t believe me if I even tried to explain it. I was supposed to start work as a profiler today, on the other side of the country. Instead, I’m in this weird little town that doesn’t even have a Starbucks or a Walmart. You would think I saw that as reassuring, but I don’t. I’ve been going over files and checking on leads for most of the day, and I’m exhausted. I’m going to be out here for at least a year, so I need to find an apartment and tell Malia that our plans to adopt have to be put on hold.” 

“The wife?” Lydia guessed, eyeing Stiles’ wedding band. 

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, I did the whole cliched proposal thing. At a Mets game, even.” 

“What is she like?” Lydia grabbed Stiles’ coat and motioned for him to get up from his chair. 

“She’s kind of like me.” Stiles mused, automatically following Lydia like no time had passed since he had last seen her. “I mean, if I had less tact and more of an appetite.” 

“Fat?” Lydia asked, but her tone wasn’t mocking or cruel. 

“No.” Stiles grinned. He showed Lydia the picture of Malia on his phone’s lock screen. “She’s not very happy about having to pack up everything and move out here. I promised I’d come help this weekend, so long as she gets started. Today was the day that we were going to see if we could adopt a baby, but obviously, that fell through.” 

“Are you shooting blanks?” Lydia teased, opening the driver’s side door of her rental car. She got in and waited for him to join her. 

“No. Malia’s adopted and it was important to her that we adopt.” Stiles explained. “And after seeing all of the shit I have, over the years? I’d rather be a good dad to a kid who needs one, instead of adding to the overpopulation this world is already dealing with.” 

“Hmm.” Lydia shrugged, backing out of her parking space. “There’s actually a decrease. It’s not an incredibly noticeable trend yet, but if it continues over the next ten years, census records will reflect the difference.” 

“Well, here’s to more food on the table and less elbows, then.” Stiles snorted. “Lydia, why did you really come out here? I haven’t seen you in five years. The last thing I knew about you, you were on your way to Switzerland to count sheep for real, or whatever it is that math goddesses do.” 

Lydia laughed. “I just made myself available to a few people, and not in the way you’re thinking, gutter mind. If you don’t have any objections, I’d like to work with you on this. But only if you’re fine with that. I know we didn’t end things on the best terms.” 

“What are you talking about?” Stiles grinned. “It’s perfectly normal for two adults to throw spaghetti at each other and scream swear words in Portuguese.” 

“I was still picking noodles out of my hair on that flight.” Lydia smiled ruefully. 

“Yeah? Well, I got evicted.” Stiles muttered. “Dropped you off, watched the departures screen to make sure you left the airport all right, and then came home to a notice on the door.” 

Lydia laughed softly, driving toward the hotel in Redding she had already made two reservations in. She was relieved to know that Stiles hadn’t changed very much and was still a workaholic who didn’t bother with small details until the last possible second. “I got you a hotel room.” She admitted. “Because the motel in Beacon Hills only has five rooms and I didn’t think it was worth the trouble.” 

“You paid for a hotel room for me?” Stiles rubbed his eyes, trying to figure out how he was going to explain to his wife that his ex-girlfriend was buying him things, more or less. 

“No, the government did.” Lydia assured him. She sighed a little while later, when the conversation lapsed and she worried that he would fall asleep in the car. “So, tell me more about your wife!” She blurted. “How long have you been together?” 

Stiles sat up, trying to stay awake. “Two years.” He smiled. “We started dating, got married a year later, and now that it’s been another year, we were hoping to add to our family. It’s kind of funny, because she wants boys and I want girls. We agreed that we wouldn’t worry over gender, though.” 

Lydia parked in the hotel lot, getting out of her car and sending a quick text message. Almost immediately afterward, her phone buzzed in her hand and she yelped, startled. The phone tumbled from her grasp, but Stiles caught it. As he handed it back to her, Lydia realized that his phone was lit up with a text message, too. “Same thing?” She asked, bemused. 

“Does yours say ‘abduction in progress, get your ass back here?’” Stiles looked up at her.

“Not exactly.” Lydia sighed. “Okay, back into the car. You’ve got exactly forty minutes to take a quick nap before we’re briefed on the situation.” She got back in, fastening her seatbelt and allowing herself a few seconds to pout at the sight of the window she knew was hers. “Goodbye, hot tub and room service.” 

Stiles reclined his seat a little, wriggling until he was comfortable while Lydia drove. He closed his eyes and was asleep within minutes. 

**

Forty-five minutes after receiving their text message summons, Stiles and Lydia stood side by side, sipping free coffee from little styrofoam cups and watching Jackson explain what was going on. 

Jackson clicked to the next slide in the hastily-thrown together Powerpoint presentation. “Bethany Ryker. She’s seven years old, and she’s going to be kidnapped. After we left, Peter decided to tell Special Agent McCall that we only had a few hours to find her and get her somewhere safe, since the man intending to take her waits until the middle of the night to abduct anyone.” He looked at Stiles. “Peter also said that if you’re not willing to work with him, these newsflashes of his are going to come in later and later, so that we’ll have no time to act. What the fuck did you say to him, Stilinski?” 

“Unprofessional.” Lydia remarked, blowing on her coffee to try to cool it off faster. 

Stiles gave Lydia a grateful smile, then met Jackson’s gaze. “Peter’s a werewolf.” He said bluntly. “That’s what we were talking about when there were no cameras on us to record the fact that he has retractable fangs.” 

“Whatever.” Jackson muttered, walking away from them. 

Lydia took a deep breath. “I dated you for three years.” She set her coffee cup down on her desk. “You’re a little different than you were, back then. But not by much. Nothing in your tone suggests that you were joking. Werewolves?” 

“Werewolves.” Stiles repeated, nodding. In the time they had been gone, Danny had rearranged the desks in a way that enabled them to plug in their computers. He walked toward Danny’s desk, which was more like three desks pushed together in a ‘u’ shape. “How long will it be until you have an address for the girl?” 

“Five more minutes.” Danny didn’t take his eyes away from the screens in front of him. 

“We’ll be down the hall.” Stiles remarked, putting his hand on Lydia’s lower back and guiding her away.

Peter sat up straight when he saw Stiles and Lydia. “Are you willing to play things my way now, Stiles?” He gave Lydia a curious smile. 

“I don’t know. Are you tired of feeling like a zoo exhibit?” Stiles muttered. “I’m going to ask you one more time, why did you choose me?” 

“You’ll figure it out eventually.” Peter looked at Lydia again. “Hello.” 

“Hello.” Lydia echoed, tilting her head. “So, you’re a werewolf?” 

Peter laughed. “I guess you came here to see a demonstration?” When Lydia nodded, he did the same thing for her that he had done for Stiles, a few hours earlier. 

Instead of screaming in terror, the way that Stiles had, Lydia just looked bored. “Okay.” She shrugged. 

“Not impressed?” Peter asked, sounding playfully disappointed. 

“I’ve seen bigger.” Lydia smirked. 

Stiles stared at Lydia in disbelief. He opened his mouth to ask her what the hell she was thinking, flirting with a psychopath, but he thought better of it and shook his head. “We’d better go, we have a lot to get done tonight.” He started walking toward the doorway.

“I find it curious that you’re telling your ex, but you didn’t tell your wife or your other co-workers.” Peter spoke, laughing softly when Stiles froze in place, but wouldn't look at him. “Of course, you did _try_ to tell Jackson, but he’s already written you off as being an incompetent ass. I bet that drives you crazy. It does, doesn’t it? Don’t you want recognition?” 

“I want you to stop playing like you’re Hannibal Lecter.” Stiles turned toward Peter. “You’re more like Norman Bates.” He smiled when Peter frowned at him. “Your older sister was a leader here, in the community. Everyone has positive things to say about her. And your younger brother? He accomplished more in his short life than you ever will. But you’re the middle child. The overlooked one. You married young, and that’s just about all anyone has to say about you. They all stop mid-sentence and shake their heads, or like one woman said? ‘Never mind, I was taught not to say unkind things about anyone. But between you and me, it’s hard to find nice things to say about Peter Hale.’” 

Peter snarled, his arms straining against the wolfsbane ropes that kept him tied to the chair. “You don’t know me, you don’t get to judge me!” 

“That’s my job!” Stiles snapped, storming toward the cage. “That’s what you requested me for! Isn’t it?” 

“Stilinski.” Jackson called out from the doorway. “We got the address. We’ve got to move.” 

Stiles took a deep breath, then made his way back to the building’s entrance. His jaw was still clenched as he fastened his seatbelt in the SUV. It wasn’t until Lydia spoke that Stiles even realized that she was sitting in the seat beside his. 

“You’re letting him get to you, and far too easily.” Lydia commented. “I think whatever his reason is, you already know it, you’re just in denial.” 

“Psychoanalysis is my job, not yours.” Stiles muttered. “Go play with a calculator.” 

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Avoidance.” 

“You want to do my job for me?” Stiles scowled at her. “Fucking do it, then. I wouldn’t mind going back to my house, with my wife, and adopting a kid. I didn’t ask for this. I’ve had one hell of a day, Lydia. Do you mind if I take some time to process that? We can’t all walk around with ice in our veins.” 

“ _Filho da puta_.” Lydia muttered.

“ _A Puta de mae_.” Stiles’ gaze went to the front seat, but Jackson was ignoring them. 

“ _A puta da tua tia!_ ” Lydia snapped. 

Stiles’ lips twitched and he laughed. “I don’t even have an aunt!” 

“I know.” Lydia shook her head. “Why are we arguing like this?” 

“Because the last time we did it, we had to put it on hold to get you to the airport on time.” Stiles reminded her. “And because it’s late and I’m exhausted.” 

‘Okay.” Lydia murmured. “But think about what I said. We’ll discuss it later, whether you want to or not. It’s not just about you, and I think you know that. All of those names, everyone on his list is a known criminal. Thousands of lives are resting on why it is that he asked for you by name. This isn’t something that can be brushed aside.” 

The SUV pulled up in front of a house, and Lydia got out. “Stay here. Rest while you can.” She told Stiles. “I’ll go get the girl and I’ll come right back.” 

Stiles didn’t feel like arguing with her anymore, so he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the SUV was moving and Lydia wasn’t beside him. “Wait, where is she?” 

“Relax, your mistress is fine.” Jackson smirked. “She’s in front of us. We wanted to make it harder for someone to know where the girl was. We brought in some agents from San Francisco earlier today, just as a precaution, and they’ve been sitting and waiting for a call from us, if we need them. They’re in front of and behind us.” 

Stiles leaned toward the window, peering out just in time to see a truck smash into the SUV that Lydia and the little girl were in, tipping it sideways. Their driver slammed on the brakes, and Stiles got out, running forward without thinking, even as he pulled his gun free of the holster. He could hear Jackson behind him, and both men dropped to a crouch behind the SUV, firing shots when they could. 

It wasn’t enough. 

Smoke clouded Stiles’ vision, and Lydia’s coughing fit inside the vehicle was a blessing and a curse. Stiles knew that she was alive, but he couldn’t get an answer out of her about Bethany’s well-being. Not that he was trying to ask. He didn’t have time for pointless endeavors. The lack of a child-like cough along with Lydia’s, though? That was a bad sign. 

**

“Well, they got her.” Stiles called out, walking toward Peter. “When are they going to call and make demands for ransom? Are they waiting for you to give them the go-ahead on that?” 

“Does knowing a criminal make you a criminal?” Peter asked dryly. 

“Being a raging assface does.” Stiles scowled. 

“Points for being prompt, but no points for being juvenile.” Peter smiled. “Relax, she’s not dead. You can get her back.” 

“Alive?” Stiles rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, you just said that. I heard it. Forgive me for being a little slow right now, I just got cleared from the hospital for smoke inhalation and blurred vision. Also, I’m tired. Have I mentioned that lately?” 

“You don’t have to.” Peter shook his head. 

“What the hell do you - do they want with her? She’s a little kid.” Stiles frowned, sitting on the floor and looking up at Peter. “Have you even gone pee since you were put in there?” 

“A few times.” Peter smirked. 

“Gross.” Stiles shrugged. “Oh well, you’re the one that has to smell it.” 

“They let me go to the bathroom, idiot.” Peter laughed. 

“Why wolfsbane ropes, though?” Stiles wondered aloud. 

“You’re straying from the topic.” Peter said gently. “Bethany.” 

Stiles gave Peter a blank look. “If she’s dead, she’s not going to be alive in the next ten minutes, and if she’s alive, we’re not going to get to her in the next ten minutes. Talk.” 

“To make you wonder.” Peter admitted. “To make you ask questions and look for answers. That’s what you do, anyway. It’s what you’ve always done. Right now, you’re still wondering why I asked for you by name, and on your first day. How I had an entire list compiled and with me in time, even though I don’t know everyone’s real name. More importantly, where did a wolfsbane rope come from? A chair made of mountain ash? These things shouldn’t be readily available. Your former lover just happens to show up, a little more than two years since the last time you saw her? You’re wondering now if you’re caught in some sort of conspiracy, if everyone around you is lying to you.” He smiled. “The answer to that is yes. But also no. Maybe.” He laughed when Stiles got to his feet, his fists clenched. “Calm down, you don’t want to end up with heart problems, like your father.” 

Stiles reminded himself, as he slowly counted to ten, that he had already let Peter get to him more than once today and he didn’t need to keep going down that path. “Bethany.” He said finally. “How do we find her?” 

“I’ll tell you, but you have to tell me something, first.” Peter studied Stiles’ expression for a few seconds, then spoke again. “You have a scar on the back of your neck. Do you know how it got there? I’ve seen you rubbing the back of your neck a few times today, even just in the brief moments when you came to talk to me.” 

Stiles shook his head, not wanting to talk about it. 

“Stiles, you shouldn’t lie to anyone. You don’t know who might be a werewolf, like me. Just tell the truth.” Peter coaxed. “For Bethany.” 

“I don’t remember it.” Stiles began. “But my dad says that I was a really clumsy toddler and I broke a glass, then slipped on the water and cut the back of my neck. I had to get a couple of stitches.” 

“Interesting.” Peter’s eyes flashed bright blue. “Bethany is at the motel. Room three. She’s not being harmed. They’re not looking for ransom, they’re just planning to hold her until tomorrow night. Just to see, before they decide what to do with her.” 

“What do you mean?” Stiles gulped, then made a face at himself for it. He knew better than to show emotion, especially around people who would take advantage of him for it. All he had done, all day, was be emotional. He resolved to do better the next day - which would start whenever this one finally ended.

“They’re seeing if she’s affected by the lunar cycle. Seeing if she’s a werewolf.” Peter explained. 

“Why not just use wolfsbane or mount-” Stiles stopped, his eyes widening before he answered his own aborted question. “Because they’re werewolves.” 

“You’re getting it.” Peter grinned, laughing softly as Stiles ran from the room. 

“Okay!” Stiles called out, waving Jackson, Rafael McCall and Danny over to him. “You’re going to have to take this one on faith.” He began. “But we need to untie Peter and take his chair and rope. He never needed them anyway. Trust me, he’s not leaving. He’ll stay put.” 

“Not this werewolf thing again.” Jackson groaned. 

“Hey!” Stiles snapped. “You’re not a stupid person, yeah? What is it called when someone has two different colored eyes?” 

“Heterochromia.” Danny answered for Jackson. 

“And when they have a hairline that comes to a point instead of going straight across their forehead?” Stiles prompted. 

“Dracula.” Jackson smirked. 

“A widow’s peak.” Danny corrected, frowning at Jackson. 

Jackson’s smile faded. “It was just a joke.” He muttered. “What’s your point?” 

“If these things can exist, then why can’t werewolves?” Stiles blurted. “If I’m wrong, we’ll just show up with wolfsbane and mountain ash, and we’ll still get her and make sure she’s safe. If I’m right, we’ll have weapons that can actually do some damage. Peter says she’s being held at the motel, in room three.”

“Jesus christ.” Jackson was already walking toward the hallway, pulling his jacket back on. “I’m in room four.” 

Stiles followed him, pressing the release for Peter’s cage. “Put the fangs away.” He told Peter as he walked toward him. “You bite me, I’ll break one of the legs off of your chair and shove it straight up your ass.” 

Peter smiled. “You’re already sounding more like yourself.” 

Stiles untied the rope and gathered it in a coil, wincing sympathetically at the rope burns on Peter’s arms. “What gets rid of that?” He nodded to the marks. 

“Time and patience.” Peter murmured. “Go on. I’ll stay in the cage like a good little pup, now that you have what you need.” He walked back toward the closed end of the glass box, his hands clasped in front of him as Stiles walked away and Jackson sealed the box shut again. 

“Just so you know.” Jackson spoke, his voice low as he walked back down the hall, beside Stiles. “You’re insane, and Danny’s close behind, and Hale’s a lunatic. I’m putting in for a transfer as soon as I get a good night’s sleep.” 

Stiles smirked. “Have you ever stopped to wonder what the word ‘lunatic’ even means?” 

“You tell me, linguistics major.” Jackson scoffed. 

“Linguistics and psychology. He dual-majored at Columbia.” Lydia rasped, smiling as she moved to join them. “They finally cleared me. I want to see this case through, and then I need time to think about whether or not I want to continue.” She turned toward Jackson. “Lunatic. ‘Affected with periodic insanity, dependent on the changes of the moon.’ Werewolf.” 

“Yeah, I’m beginning to see how _you_ ended up with _him_.” Jackson muttered. 

Stiles opened his mouth to say something that would probably get him fired, but his phone started playing the song he had assigned to any calls or texts from Malia. He fumbled with the phone, averting his gaze in mortification as he looked at the message from her. ‘It’s a Girl!’ was printed in bold pink letters on a large poster, and Malia’s fingers were wrapped around one edge of it as she had used the other hand to take a selfie. Stiles barely had time to process what he was looking at before a second message followed the first. 

‘We’ve been approved! I explained that you and I are moving to California unexpectedly, and everything is still in order. They’ve already sent our information to the people out there in Beacon Hills who handle adoptions. And I have one more surprise for you.’

Stiles was grateful that he wasn’t the person driving as he stared at his phone, on the way to the motel. Malia’s final text was a street address. ‘129 Woodbine Lane.’ He barely noticed when they stopped, when Jackson and Lydia used the rope and detached chair legs to break into the motel room and get Bethany out safely. He only glanced up when the doors of the SUV opened again. 

“Thanks for the help.” Jackson snapped. 

“You’re welcome?” Stiles slumped in his seat, still staring at the phone. He had a bad feeling. Objectively, he knew he should be excited about adopting a little girl with his wife, and the fact that she was already in town and had obviously followed right behind him on a later flight. But Malia had never been the kind of woman who took the initiative when it came to formal events. Their wedding had been at the courthouse, in jeans and t-shirts, despite what Stiles had wanted. Malia didn’t want to bother buying a wedding gown. Meeting with people who would decide if they were capable parents was Stiles’ job, and Malia had already told him that she was just going to stand there and smile politely while he did the talking. So how, now that he was on the other side of the country, had she managed to pull herself together and get so much accomplished in one day? How had his wife, who actually had ‘idgaf’ tattooed on the knuckles of one hand, bought a house in California in the time Stiles had been gone? That sort of thing took months, not minutes. 

“What’s wrong?” Lydia demanded, frowning at Stiles as they arrived back at the warehouse. She watched Jackson carry Bethany into the building, then looked back at her ex-boyfriend. 

“If you wanted a house, what would you do?” Stiles asked quietly, looking up from his phone. 

“You need to ask?” Lydia smiled faintly. “Look online, drive past the place, pay attention to the neighborhood, check the sex offender registry, make sure I’m not going to be part of some HOA, meet with the realtor, see the house from inside, and try to talk down the price as low as I can possibly get it.” 

“How long would that take you?” Stiles muttered. 

“Me, personally?” Lydia shrugged one shoulder. “A month. Longer, if negotiations are stalled or if I get a flat no and have to start over with a search.” 

“Yeah.” Stiles nodded. “I figured you would say that. And you’ve always been good at talking to people. Malia’s not, and she... I don’t want to say anything bad about her.” He shook his head. “But she’s different from you, let’s just say that? And she managed to buy a house out here in the time I was gone. And she’s here.” 

“Maybe your change of job site motivated her.” Lydia suggested. “You’re exhausted and jumping at shadows, Stiles. Go home. To your new home. Be with your wife. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She glanced at the time on her phone. “Later today, actually.” 

Stiles nodded and got out of the car, getting directions to the new house. It wasn’t too far, which turned out to be good news when he realized he had already been walking for two blocks and had forgotten that he could have asked for a ride, instead. He trudged up the stairs and picked up the envelope with his name on it, on the welcome mat. It had a set of keys in it, and he smiled as he unlocked the door. “Mal, you can’t just leave the keys outside for anyone to grab, you know? Somebody could just come in, if you do things like that. I get that this town is tiny and everything, but Mayberry only exists in TV Land, or whatever the hell network still shows Andy Griffith. As the Sheriff, I mean. Not Matlock.” He wandered around the house as he spoke, admiring the living room and the staircase before he spotted his wife, her back to him as she sat in a chair in the kitchen. He moved toward her, smiling to himself. “I just wanted to tell you that you amaze -” His blood ran cold as he got a look at her face. She had duct tape over her mouth and one eye was swollen. More tape kept her stuck to the chair, in a bizarre imitation of how Peter Hale had been tied up, most of the day. There was blood on her shirt, but Stiles couldn’t tell where it originated from. It was everywhere. “Holy shit.” He took a step forward, but froze again when he heard a click, a clear sign that a gun was close by and the safety was off. 

“Sit down.” 

Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off of Malia, even though he wanted to. He needed to see who had done this to her, wanted to make them suffer the way she had obviously suffered - and then make them suffer more. He sat down in the chair closest to hers. “Malia, you’re going to be okay. Listen to me. Don’t fall asleep, I don’t know how bad it is, but you need to stay awake. Stay with me.” 

“Shut up!” The woman yelled. 

Stiles glanced at him, then looked back at Malia. It was safer, he knew, to keep his gaze on his wife, to try to stay calm instead of looking at the woman again and letting rage fill him. 

“I had a good thing going.” The woman brushed a lock of blonde hair out of her eyes. “Do you know how much werewolves go for, on the black market? And now here comes Peter Hale, werewolf extraordinaire, trying to put me out of business. You know it’s just so he can take over, don’t you? Malia and I have been talking for a little while now. She doesn’t know anything about the work you’re doing. She knows you’re in the FBI, but that’s about it. You keep a lot of secrets from each other, don’t you?” She laughed, shaking her head. “So much to learn, the two of you.” She set the gun down and picked up a knife. “Look at me, Stiles.” She waved her free hand at him. 

Stiles scowled at her, and the woman laughed again. 

“Honey, if it was any other time of the month, I’d kill for a chance to take that look off your face. But I’m short on time and I have to get myself another pretty, young werewolf. I’ve got a buyer who doesn’t like when I don’t deliver. What you’re going to do right now is tell me everything you know. Tell me something I find useful, I’ll be nice to your girl. Disappoint me, and I’ll start cutting into her again.” 

“I don’t know what you want to know!” Stiles blurted. “Ask me something. Ask me a direct fucking question, you want an answer so damned badly.” 

“There we go, we’re cooperating.” The blonde cooed. “Great. Where’s Bethany?” 

“Safe and away from you and your kind.” Stiles took a deep breath when he watched the knife twirling through the woman’s fingers. “Don’t. Don’t hurt her, you said I had to answer, you didn’t say I had to do that ‘yes ma’am’ shit. You want me to beg, I can do that. Don’t hurt my wife again. She’s not involved in this.” 

“You want me to hurt you, instead?” She gave him a contemplative smile, then looked at Malia. “What do you think, sweetie? Should I let you go and maybe cut your husband’s fingers off? Start with the ring finger? I bet that ring is worth at least a few dollars, isn’t it?” 

Malia cried out through the duct tape, shaking her head. 

“You’re right, he’d just bleed all over everything.” She flipped the knife over in her hand again, plunging it down and into Malia’s thigh.

Malia screamed in pain.

“God dammit, stop!” Stiles yelled. “I don’t even know who you are, I don’t know what you want or why you’re doing this. The person we’re after is a guy. Unless you’re hiding something, that’s not you.” 

“Disappointing.” She yanked the knife out of Malia’s thigh and set it on the table between them, smirking as she sat across from Stiles and ignored Malia’s whimpering. “My name is Kate Argent. The guy you’re looking for is someone I hired to kidnap Bethany for me, verify she’s a werewolf before I sell her to my client.” 

Stiles opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, but Kate shook her finger at him. 

“Don’t think I’m going to give up information. He or she is making me very rich and I don’t feel like losing that source of income, you understand? So I’m going to ask you one more time. Where the hell is my product?” 

“I don’t know!” Stiles insisted. “I really don’t. I only know that we got her away from the motel.” 

“Peter talks about you a lot.” Kate remarked. “Of course, he doesn’t talk to me, but he does talk about you a lot. And those people talk, and those people do, and word gets around. You’re supposed to be some kind of superhero, Boy Wonder sort of guy. I don’t see it. What do you think, though? Have you seen _The Dark Knight_?”

Stiles nodded, looking back and forth between Kate and Malia. 

“Great.” Kate grinned. “Then you know what’s coming.” She picked the knife up again and stabbed Malia in the chest. “Stay here and save her, or stop me and save everyone.” She ran from the house. 

Stiles got up, but he didn’t follow Kate. He pulled the tape away from Malia’s mouth and applied pressure to her wound. “Stay awake.” He told her again, calling nine-one-one. 

**

Hours passed, but Stiles didn’t dare sleep. He watched Malia’s heart monitor, comforted by the steady beeping, even though he wished they were home and safe. He kept her left hand sandwiched between both of his, his mind wandering. In the time he had spent, waiting for her to get stitched up and be placed in her own room, he had downed two more cups of coffee. It all blurred together. Peter Hale. Kate Argent. Bethany. Werewolves. Home invaders. Startled, he sat up straight, then got to his feet and leaned over to kiss Malia’s forehead. As he walked out of the hospital, he called Lydia. 

“Stiles?” Lydia sounded half-asleep. “What’s going on?” 

“You texted me about an hour and a half ago, saying that Peter’s been moved to a hotel room.” Stiles demanded. “What hotel? What room? Just text me the information, I’m hanging up.” Pissed off and reckless, he hotwired a car in the parking garage and drove it to Redding. He checked the address at a red light in the city and pulled into a gas station to get directions on his phone. At the hotel, he kept moving, ignoring the desk clerk when she called out to him. He took the elevator to the third floor, going down the hall and knocking furiously. He stepped past Rafael and walked right into Peter’s bedroom, where the man was sitting up and watching tv. “You’d better stop playing games with me right now and tell me what the fuck is going on.” He blurted. “Because my wife is laying in the hospital right now, hooked up to machines, because you fucking lied!” 

“Malia?” Peter turned the tv off, staring at Stiles. “Is she going to be all right?” 

Stiles punched Peter. “I don’t want to hear her name come out of your mouth ever again, do you understand me? I don’t care how you know it, I don’t want that information. At least, not right now. But when I do, you’re going to tell me. For now, let’s start with Kate Argent.” 

“What about her?” Peter looked confused, but no less worried than he had a moment earlier. If anything, he looked more alarmed. 

“You tell me what the fuck she was doing at my house, that I didn’t even have until today!” Stiles snapped. “There’s no way she could have been stalking me and seen me go in, since I’ve never even been there before. But somehow, she knew to look for Malia out here, she knew we were married. How are you two connected? She sure as hell knows you, so don’t even pretend that you don’t know her.” 

“Calm down.” Peter breathed in and out sharply. “Tell me what happened. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.” 

“Kate Argent was in - why aren’t you getting this?” Stiles sat on the edge of the bed, raking his fingers through his hair. “I came home, to the place I had never set foot in, and she was there. She had Malia duct-taped to a chair and she kept _stabbing her_ because I didn’t know where Bethany was. She said that you talk about me all the time, and word got back to her through your mutual friends. Or whatever they are.”

“Kate Argent is nobody’s friend.” Peter shook his head. 

Stiles lifted his head and looked at Peter, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. “What the fuck do you want me to do, sign her up for daycare? I don’t give a fuck about her friends or your friends. I want to know why she knows me. I want to know why she targeted Malia to get to me, when I haven’t exactly had time to make a name for myself. I don’t owe you anything, but you owe me everything. If Malia dies, I’ll quit. I don’t care about you. You can go straight to werewolf prison or whatever the equivalent is. Let Kate Argent sell _you_ on the black market, for all I care.” 

“Good.” Peter muttered. “Let the whole world burn, then. Who gives a shit? You really think your wife matters more than all the kids you saved tonight by bringing that guy to justice? What we need to do is get Kate Arg-” 

Stiles rested one knee on the bed, his hand wrapped around a stake made of mountain ash. The sharpened end was inside Peter’s chest. “I had a lot of time tonight.” He said quietly, staring at the criminal in front of him. “Hours of waiting to hear whether my wife survived an attack by one of your besties. So I just sat there, and somehow nobody bothered me, while I made myself a weapon. I want you to stop talking about what ‘we’ need to do, because there’s no we.” He shook his head slowly. “There’s me, and there’s me and Malia, and there’s the task force, which I’m part of. You don’t mean shit to me. You wanna act like you’re one of the good guys now, after everything you’ve done? Stop talking in circles. Where do I find Kate Argent?” 

Peter wheezed. “Get this thing out of me, or I’m going to die and you won’t know what Malia’s been hiding from you.” 

“The location.” Stiles repeated. “For Kate Argent.” 

“You’re never going to find her. She’s not even here.” Peter laughed hoarsely.

Stiles yanked the stake out of Peter’s chest and threw it across the room, getting up from the bed. 

“I’m not even a vampire, you idiot.” Peter pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m insulted.” 

**

“You should be fired for what you did.” Rafael told Stiles, the next morning. “Your behavior is erratic. In one day of work, you jeopardized an investigation, then tried to murder an informant. If it wasn’t for the fact that Peter can heal from injuries like the one you inflicted, you’d be sitting in jail right now. What do you think your dad would say about that?” 

“I think he’d say ‘where the hell is the bacon?’ because that man is determined to get high cholesterol, damn everything else.” Stiles shrugged. “Here’s the way things are, whether you like it or not. You need Peter Hale’s expertise to catch all of these mofos, and Peter won’t help you unless he gets to talk to me. So you need me.” He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Where is Peter now, anyway?” 

Rafael looked uncomfortable and mumbled something under his breath. 

“What?” Stiles frowned. 

“He escaped custody.” Rafael sighed. “Nobody was watching him and he jumped off the balcony and disappeared on us.” 

“Who the fuck decided to let him have a balcony?” Stiles blurted. 

“Do I need to remind you that you’re talking to your superior?” Rafael frowned. 

Stiles licked his lips, thinking. “Who the fuck decided to let him have a balcony, _sir_?” 

“We’ve got the tracker activated, sir.” Danny interrupted, looking at Rafael. When the older man moved past them, Danny leaned toward Stiles. “You’re going to push every single last one of his buttons, aren’t you? Just because.” 

“Yeah. And Jackson’s.” Stiles grinned. “I haven’t figured out if anything pisses you off, yet.” 

“That could be because I tend to appreciate guys with a certain... disregard for authority.” Danny winked, walking away. 

Stiles twisted his wedding band around on his finger, wondering what the hell secret Peter had been talking about Kate had made mention of the same thing, and he didn’t think that was a coincidence. 

**

“Hello, Kate.” Peter sat down on a park bench beside the blonde woman, glancing over at her. “How did things go with Stiles?” 

“I paid him a visit, like you asked.” Kate shrugged. 

“And his wife?” Peter knew they didn’t have much time, he could almost hear his tracker making noise, the second it was activated. He would have Stiles buzzing in his ear like a mosquito with a lot more questions if he didn’t hurry up. 

“Like you asked.” Kate repeated, smiling. 

“He’s going to be wondering how it happened, even though I gave him all of the clues.” Peter remarked. “But I’ve at least bought us some time to talk. How did you get to the other side?” 

“You know how.” Kate laughed. “You left that gap where anyone could cross over, if they wanted to. You’d better do something about that, Peter. It’s only going to get worse.” 

“Maybe.” Peter mused. “But why now? It’s been fifteen years. Something else must have happened to widen it, to let other people pass through. And if you did it, then odds are good that someone else has, too.” He reached into his coat, leaning toward Kate and wrapping his right arm around her shoulders. To anyone passing, they were lovers sharing an embrace. At least, until Kate’s body disintegrated. Peter brushed the dust off of the bench and onto the ground, shaking his head. He had a lot to do. A lot to make up for.

**

Stiles cut up the blood-stained carpet in the dining room, tossing the pieces aside as he worked. When he finished, he sat back on his heels and eyed the rectangular panel in the floorboards. As a kid, he had loved things like this. The idea of a secret hiding place in any home, full of mystery, had prompted him to hide things in the walls and floor of his apartment, growing up. He smiled to himself as he remembered the time he had hidden a grilled cheese sandwich in the floorboards and forgotten about it, only to rediscover it a few weeks later. Cleaning up that mess had taken him and his dad hours and lots of room deodorizing spray, and he had been grounded for two weeks. After that, he stopped hiding food. He lifted the wooden panel, setting it aside and looking down at a box with an intricate carving on top. It was a weird spiral that seemed almost deconstructed, and he got up to grab a piece of paper and a pencil, using the lead to rub over the paper, copying the shape. When he was done, he leaned forward to put the paper and pencil on the floor, near the wooden panel. He lifted the box out of the hiding spot, opening it. 

Inside, there were bound stacks of hundred dollar bills. He bit his lip, then took the money out of the box and put it in a pile on the floor. Under the money, there were passports. Each one had a picture of Malia and a different name. Maria Espinoza. Marjorie Dietz. Matilda Brown. Stiles’ hands shook as he dropped the collection of passports on the other side of the hole in the floor. A corked bottle rested in a recessed part of the box, like the box had been designed specifically to hold the glass container. Stiles picked it up carefully, examining the purple powder inside.

**

Stiles walked down a long corridor, in the basement of the warehouse. He unlocked a door, staring at Peter as the man’s eyes adjusted to the onslaught of bright light from the hallway. 

Peter made eye contact with the young agent, watching as Stiles struggled to maintain control and a blank expression. “You found something, didn’t you? Sit down. Tell me.”

~~~***~~~

**Soundtrack: Naughty Boy, Bastille - No One's Here to Sleep**


	2. The Rift

_Thursday, October 1, 2020_

“Good morning.” Peter smiled at Stiles. He set his newspaper aside and reached for his cup of coffee, taking a drink. “Are you feeling better today?” 

“Any day I have to work with you is pure hell.” Stiles shook his head and sat down across from Peter. “Why are we here?” He looked around, eyeing the people passing by on the sidewalk. As he had been getting ready for work, he got a call from Jackson, telling him to meet Peter for breakfast and come in afterward. 

“On this planet, or at the cafe?” Peter laughed when Stiles glared at him. “You should learn to appreciate the world around you. It’s shockingly easy to see it all stripped away.” 

“Is that a threat?” Stiles glanced up at the waitress when she stopped at their table. “I’ll just have a cup of coffee.” 

“No, he won’t.” Peter protested. “He’ll have coffee, yes, but he’ll also have a green pepper omelette.” 

Stiles nodded, studying Peter as the waitress walked away. “How did you know that?” 

“Because, Stiles, when you stress eat, you still make sure it’s healthy, and you’ve had a rough week.” Peter smiled. 

“This isn’t normal behavior, you realize? Normal people don’t memorize details about a person’s eating habits, they don’t order breakfast for them. I have no idea who you are, and I told them that yesterday when they made me sit through an hour of polygraph bullshit!” Stiles’ voice had been increasing in volume as he spoke, and he shouted the last bit at Peter. “They’re watching us right now, you know that?” 

Peter nodded, his smile never faltering. “I do know. I know a lot of things.” 

“You ‘drink and know things’?” Stiles remarked, snorting. 

“Yes, and so do you.” Peter scoffed, mocking Stiles’ angry rant. “Normal people don’t memorize details about a person’s eating habits, but profilers do. Normal people don’t order breakfast for someone starving because they can’t be bothered, but I do. You haven’t had anything to eat in at least twenty-four hours.” 

Stiles grimaced. “Is this a werewolf thing?” 

“I’m afraid so.” Peter smiled at the waitress when she filled Stiles’ cup with coffee. “Thank you, darling.” 

Stiles shook a couple of sugar packets, tearing them open at the same time and dumping them into the coffee cup. “You think you can charm everybody, but you don’t fool me, you know?” 

“Yes, that’s one more thing that I know.” Peter smirked. “I’m changing your plans for the day, but you shouldn’t need to call it in. We’re not going to the office. I’m taking you on a field trip.” 

Stiles sighed. He still wasn’t sure what to do about Malia, who was in a medical coma. He had spent the day before packing up everything, but Malia’s things took him longer than he thought possible. In packing her clothes, he searched the pockets. Packing her books, the few she bothered to buy for herself, led to him shaking each one to see if something fell from between the pages. And when the boxes were full and he had taped them shut and uncapped a marker to label the outside, he had to stop himself from scrawling ‘lying bitch’ on each one. He still wondered if Peter had set things up somehow. His life hadn’t been chaotic until the man demanded his assistance. “Are you going to tell me where the hell we’re going?” 

“You’ll see it for yourself.” Peter nodded toward Stiles’ coffee cup. “Drink that before it gets cold. Cold coffee is abominable.” 

“Yeah, so’s the snowman.” Stiles snorted at his own joke, ignoring Peter’s eyeroll. 

**

“What the hell is that?” Stiles stared at a massive tree stump, but the gnarled roots weren’t what had his attention. Just above it, there was a weird ripple effect, and it made him think of fire. He shivered and rubbed his hands together, looking over at Peter. “You wanted to show me a chopped-down tree?” 

“No, the ripple!” Peter pointed. “You don’t see it?” 

“Oh, I see it.” Stiles muttered. “Fucking crazy criminal bastard drags me out to the woods and instead of telling him to fuck himself, I figure I might as well come along and look at the way air is being wacky. Would you just tell me what this is about?” 

“Fifteen years ago, I figured out that if parallel universes exist, there must be a way to access one. My way involved witchcraft. Namely, a druid who I had to kill afterward, since she would have told everyone what I was up to.” Peter shrugged at Stiles’ open-mouthed horror. “She wasn’t the first or the last person I did that to, you can stop looking surprised now. After all, I’m a ‘fucking crazy criminal bastard,’ as you so eloquently put it.” 

“Okay.” Stiles studied the ripple again, thinking. “So fifteen years ago, a bunch of werewolves get murdered in a house fire, and the one suspected of setting the fire decides to open a rift between universes. I think you’ve spent more time reading comic books than I have. Were you trying to escape?” 

“I considered it.” Peter said bluntly. “But in the end, I went with a different solution. The thing is, other people have found this, and now I need to close it. No. You need to close it.” 

“Me?!” Stiles yelled, stunned. He rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head at Peter. “Assuming you’re not batshit insane, and this is real? There’s a doorway right there and even though I’m brand new to the idea of werewolves, you think I have the capability to shut down a dimensional rift _thing_?” 

“I know you can do this. You just need to believe that you can.” Peter said calmly. “Now stop screaming at me and focus, Mieczyslaw!” 

Stiles didn’t say anything for several minutes, and Peter wondered if the younger man had somehow gone catatonic, before he broke the silence and spoke softly. “I don’t want to know how you nailed that pronunciation.” He glanced at Peter, then looked back at the rift. “Lydia’s got the highest IQ of anyone I’ve met and she can speak half a dozen languages, but my name tripped her up. Malia wouldn’t even say it in our vows. They, uh, they said ‘take thee, Mieczyslaw,’ and she said, ‘take thee, _Stiles_ ’ and I laughed and told the justice of the peace to just keep going, that it was a long-standing nickname and still valid. But you? I’ve never spoken to you in person until the other day, I had no idea who you even were. Did you practice saying it, to try to get to me? I don’t... I don’t trust you, but I trust you. I mean, I trust that you’re inevitably going to screw me over at some point, and yet I still came out here to the woods like a dumbass. If I go over there, am I going to burst into flames or get shot?” 

Peter shook his head, watching as Stiles struggled with things he had learned over the past few days. “Take your time.” 

Stiles picked up a long, thin branch and approached the rift warily. 

“You’re going to actually poke at the thing with a stick?” Peter scoffed, holding his hands up defensively when Stiles glared over his shoulder. “Fine, be my guest.” 

When the branch didn’t catch on fire or snap in half from going through the rift, Stiles got his phone out of his pocket and made a phone call. “Lydia, you should get Whittemore, Danny and McCall out here. Tell Danny to bring a video camera. And a regular camera.” 

**

It was after sunset when Lydia watched their co-workers leave the Preserve. She shivered as she walked over to Stiles, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of the rift for more than a few seconds. Scientists were supposed to come examine it, but they wouldn’t arrive until the next day. She crouched beside him and rested a hand on his arm. “You’re going to go blind if you stare at that for too long.” She said gently. “You need to go home.” 

“I don’t feel like it.” Stiles admitted. He turned his head to look at her. “If I tell you something, will you keep it quiet? I don’t want to go through another round of being hooked up to a lie detector.” 

Lydia chose her words carefully. “If you’re in a bad situation that I feel obligated to report, I’m going to. I know you would prefer I didn’t, but I also know that you would do the same thing, if I was the one having trouble.” 

“Malia bought a house in a matter of hours.” Stiles began. “It’s not like her, and it’s also practically impossible to do. But I couldn’t get her blood out of the carpet. I ripped it up and found a loose panel in the floor of the dining room. There was a box with money and passports, and something that looks like a prop in a funhouse. The passports are all Malia’s, and they have different names. I know it sounds crazy, but I think she already had this house, just waiting for her. Like a safehouse, in case she needed to hide herself. I mean, that carpet wasn’t new, and the box was under the floorboards.” 

“You need to talk to McCall.” Lydia stood up and held her hand out. “But first, you need to eat something and sleep. There’s nothing we can do here, and we wasted the entire day just watching for something to come out of there.” 

“Yeah, and what happens when we go?” Stiles took her hand and stood up, brushing dirt off of his pants. 

“Other agents are here, and they’ll take care of it.” Lydia assured him. “You’re just one person, you can’t take on everything by yourself. You still haven’t managed to figure that out.” 

“Peter thinks I can close that thing all by myself.” Stiles countered, following her to her car. He still needed to pick up one of his own, but the town was so small that he had already adjusted to walking everywhere.

“Peter is not the sort of man you should take advice from.” Lydia shook her head, smiling. “It’s definitely one hell of an anomaly, but you grew up thousands of miles away from here, you had nothing to do with that being open and you’re not the one who can close it. If it _can_ be closed.” She turned to lean back against the trunk of her car, looking up at the stars. “As for the situation with Malia? McCall is going to have questions, but he can also give you answers about how to handle it. If it was me, I’d box up everything she has, put it in storage, and refuse to hand over the key until she signs divorce papers. But I’m not married and I’m known for using my head instead of my heart. You’re the opposite. What you’re probably, definitely, going to do is ask her to tell you the truth, trust that she is when she explains it away, and hold onto her as tightly as you can. You don’t like to let go of anyone.” 

“Yeah.” Stiles agreed softly. “But if I never had her in the first place, then does it really even count? I mean, there’s also the chance that Peter planted those things.” 

Lydia shook her head. “No, that’s not likely at all. You’re looking for any possible explanation and ignoring the right one. Do you remember that philosophy exam I helped you study for, on the razors?” 

“Barely.” Stiles reached up to rub the back of his neck. Ever since Peter had mentioned it, Stiles had been incredibly self-conscious about the gesture, but it was a nervous habit that he couldn’t break. 

“Occam’s razor.” Lydia murmured. “The simple answer is usually the right one. The Sagan standard? Remember that one?” 

“Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence.” Stiles nodded. “Okay, but what’s the point of this lesson?” 

“I’m trying to tell you that if you found a box, hidden in the floor, hidden under a carpet that had been there for what looked like a long time, Peter didn’t plant it for you to find.” Lydia looked up at Stiles. “Malia claims that she bought the house, and those were her things in that box?” 

Stiles nodded. 

“Tomorrow, we’re going to look at the records for the house.” Lydia yawned. “Now get in the car, so I can drive you home and go to my apartment.” 

“When did you get an apartment?” Stiles blurted, opening the passenger side door. He stayed where he was, looking at her. 

“You had a few days off and so did I.” Lydia smiled. “You should have used yours to buy a car.” 

“I’ll take care of it eventually.” Stiles protested, getting in and sitting down in the car. 

“Which is just your way of starting the usual process of putting it off while you set up your cable and internet, and figure out where the best pizza place is. And then you’ll show up at work on Monday, soaked from the rain, and ask me to please help you find a good car.” Lydia grinned. “I’ll say no, you’ll beg me and buy me lunch, and then I’ll give in.” 

“Exactly.” Stiles agreed, laughing. “So let’s just skip that whole thing, and you can have someone drop off a car for me tomorrow, before I have to come in to work.” 

“Be an adult.” Lydia started the car and glanced at him to make sure his seatbelt was fastened before she drove back into town. “Do it yourself.” 

Stiles was quiet, lost in thought for a little while. “I’ve actually gotten pretty good at handling things.” He looked over at her, then back down at his hands. “But it’s like everything really did go straight to hell, the second I opened my front door to see about four different government cars and a freaking helicopter, all there to escort me to the airport. I came straight out here and it’s just been chaos, ever since. I really do want things to calm down. I want a rental car, I want a wife who doesn’t have at least a dozen aliases, and I want to have never heard of Peter Hale or Beacon Hills or any of it. Somewhere, there’s a me who has the most boring office job ever, and I envy that lucky bastard.” 

“But you’re you.” Lydia cleared her throat as she pulled up in front of Stiles’ house. “And the world we live in now has werewolves and witches who can open a gateway between realities, and as frightening as that is? I’m kind of excited about it. Everything that Einstein said about string theory is correct, and we get to know that. We’re the only ones.”

“Sure.” Stiles snorted. “Us and McCall, Jackson and Danny. Peter and the other dozen agents who are taking over as rift babysitters for the night, too. I get that it’s happening, I’m not that far in denial.” He sighed. “But why would Peter think I can stop this?” 

“Did you ask him?” Lydia turned her car off, knowing that their conversation was far from over. 

“He just told me I need to believe in myself.” Stiles glanced at his front door, then turned back toward Lydia. “Come in with me, have some coffee? I’m not going to sleep anytime soon, regardless of whether or not I need it. You know that already, don’t pretend that you don’t.” 

Lydia nodded and made sure cars weren’t coming toward her before she got out, waiting until Stiles was out of the car before she locked it and followed him into the house. Her lips parted and she looked around, frowning. 

“What’s wrong?” Stiles held his hand out to take her coat from her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“Sort of.” Lydia murmured. “It just feels like I’ve been here before. Is it all right if I go upstairs and look around?” 

Stiles shrugged at her. “I’ll make coffee, you go ahead.” 

Lydia rested a hand on the newel post, walking slowly up the stairs as she trailed her hand over the banister, on her way up to the second floor of the house. She wasn’t sure what she expected to find, but she felt compelled to walk all the way to the end of the hall, to the last door there. She opened it, holding her breath as the door swung inward. The room was empty, but she had been so certain that there would be bunk beds, and more than one set of them. She stepped into the room, turning one direction after another as she moved. She looked up, blinking, when Stiles called her name from the doorway. 

“I made the coffee about ten minutes ago.” Stiles smiled gently. “I guess you didn’t hear me?” 

Lydia shook her head. “No, I didn’t. I was thinking. Maybe remembering. Maybe it was a dream I had? There were bunk beds here.” She pointed to one wall. “And over here, on the other side. And a big, round carpet in the middle, right here where I’m standing. Legos and toy trucks, and at least four kids. Two boys and two girls, but maybe more. Maybe...” She shook her head a second time. “It seemed so clear, a minute ago.” 

“I think this town is fucking with us.” Stiles muttered. “Come on. You know, it’s kind of stupid that you got an apartment. This house has a lot of bedrooms and you could just stay here. Sublet your place or whatever.” 

“Regardless of what Malia did or didn’t do....” Lydia began, following Stiles to the kitchen. “I don’t think any self-respecting wife would be fine with her husband moving his ex-girlfriend into their home. I appreciate the offer, but you’re thinking with your heart again, instead of your head.” She huffed in irritation at herself, and the way she had phrased things. “Not like you’re interested in me, I just meant that you’re feeling like you’re entirely alone and that’s the only reason you invited me here. If you had been thinking logically, rationally, you would not have done that.” 

“Fine.” Stiles muttered, looking through his cabinets for honey, since he knew that Lydia liked that in her coffee, more often than not. He plunked the bottle down beside the coffee cup he had set at the table for her. “Logically, _rationally_ , then. Malia lied to me in a really fucking major way and as much as it’s killing me, I know I have to end things. But I can’t do it right now because she’s in a coma and I’ve seen that movie, I know it ends with me dying on a beach somewhere.” He snorted when Lydia laughed at the reference. “I’ve done the crying thing, and I’m not ashamed to admit that. All of her stuff is packed and I hired a moving company to deal with it, and my stuff. It should be here this weekend. I don’t know if I can keep this house, since it’s obvious that it’s hers. But I sort of want to. I mean, after all of the other shit, for it to end like this seems beyond... everything I ever thought might go wrong. I figured we might fight about money or what color to paint the nursery, or she might get drunk and cheat on me. Those are normal things, things I already expected might happen one day and I have contingency plans for how to get myself through. I never sat down and thought, ‘okay, but what if it turns out that she’s probably in the CIA?’” 

“Is that your new theory?” Lydia stirred a spoonful of honey into her coffee and took a sip. 

“No.” Stiles shook his head. “I feel like an asshole for saying it, but I just don’t think she’d be that good. At pretending, I mean. I’m still dealing with this. I don’t know what the hell the passports are for, but she goes outside in shorts in winter and forgets to put shoes on if I don’t remind her, and unless she’s been monitoring me for someone, that’s one hell of an act, making herself seem especially stupid. Like I’d find that endearing?” 

“But you did. You married her.” Lydia pointed out. “You wanted someone who needed you, because I didn’t.” 

Stiles sighed and put his head down on his arms. “Why would I be a mark like that, though?” 

“I don’t know.” Lydia took another drink of her coffee and sat back in her chair to think. “But a few days ago, you figured out that the people kidnapping werewolf children were werewolves themselves, and your quick thinking helped us put a stop to that. You figured that out, and you can figure out how to close the rift, _and_ you can figure out why Malia sought you out.” 

“It can’t just be that I’m good in bed?” Stiles smirked. 

“Inappropriate.” Lydia shook her head at him.

“I know. Sorry.” Stiles muttered. He turned his coffee cup around in his hands a few times, thinking. “Okay. What’s simple is true, then. You left, I stopped dating and focused on my classes. I drank at home, instead of going to bars. I graduated, completed my training, and moved to Seattle to work for the Bureau for two years, like every other incoming agent at every other office in the country. That’s where I met Malia. She worked at the grocery store, and she asked me out after I intervened when one of her customers was being a dick. I didn’t see any reason to say no, so I said yes. I’d been going to that store for the two months I’d lived in the area, at the time. Malia was already an employee before I got there. So if she was put there to get close, then somebody pulled some strings to get me where she already was. Otherwise, somebody got to her after I agreed to date her.” 

“Did her behavior change at all? Any sort of shift in it? A different perfume, anything.” Lydia looked around the kitchen. It wasn’t decorated in a style she would have described as feminine. The house looked like someone had been careful not to make it look masculine, either. 

“Not that I can think of.” Stiles glanced around the room, trying to guess what Lydia was looking for. “Anyway, I only saw her once every couple of weeks, at most. So if she did alter her behavior, I don’t think I knew her well enough to catch a difference.” 

“Well, let’s go the other way, then.” Lydia stood up, opening cabinets without bothering to ask permission. Somewhere, she knew, there would be a package of chocolate chip cookies. She smiled to herself when she found them, setting the container on the table and opening it. “You’re a creature of far too many habits and it would be easy to figure you out in less than a week.” She commented, biting into a cookie. She chewed and swallowed, carefully wiping her lips with the tips of her fingers. “If Malia already worked at the store, and you didn’t notice a change in her behavior, then there probably wasn’t one. And... if, then else. _If_ Malia already worked at the store, _then_ someone may have put her there before you arrived, knowing what store you would go to. Knowing that you’ve never been able to keep your mouth shut when you see someone in a difficult situation. _If_ you had turned Malia down, _then_ someone else could have come along and found a way to get close to you.” 

“You think it would be that easy? I don’t let people in. Not like that.” Stiles shook his head when Lydia pushed the cookies toward him. “Maybe. If someone made me end up in Seattle, if I was just curious enough to check Malia’s work history, if that guy got into line right before me, deliberately, and if I thought she was pretty, then the past two years have been all about keeping tabs on every move I make. You know who thinks like that? People with paranoia.” 

“Just because you’re paranoid, that doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you, Stiles.” Lydia finished her coffee. 

“Then that just proves that I shouldn’t trust you.” Stiles snorted. “Think about it. You run off to Switzerland and I don’t see you for five years, and then you’re here on my first day, already working for the FBI yourself. That’s a lot more sketchy than what’s going on with Malia. Whatever that is.” 

Lydia laughed. “More devil’s advocate, then.” She pressed her lips together, sitting back in her chair. “If I was going to track you, I wouldn’t do it like this. I’d bump into you in a major city, claim I was there for some conference that would be legitimate when you looked into it. I would invite you to have a drink with me, for old time’s sake. I’d probably even convince you to sleep with me.” She said boldly. “And then, when you weren’t paying attention, I’d put a tracking device on your coat. I’d come around more often. Not too frequently. Once every three or four months, maybe six at most. Two weeks’ vacation? No problem there. Your mailman, your neighbor who likes to jog past your house, the guy at the gas station you go to most often? They’re all on my team, feeding me information. You wouldn’t think much of seeing them in the grocery store or at a sporting event, because that’s just a coincidence, of course. I can see you’re thinking it now, wondering if someone has been running past your house in the mornings. That’s the kind of behavior I expect from you. That’s the way you were before you met Malia.” 

“So, what? She made me complacent?” Stiles frowned. 

“Yes!” Lydia blurted. “When we were together, if I was going to check the mail in the lobby, you didn’t want me to do it by myself. I thought it was sweet at first, but then I realized that you actually thought that I would hide your mail from you. And we knew each other for years, at that point. What you should be doing is getting a tox screen on yourself, to see if she’s been slipping you pills or something. Think about it. This past week, away from her, you’re behaving erratically. It doesn’t matter how long I’ve known you. McCall read over your psychiatric evaluation before you even joined the team here, and he thinks you’re not acting the way that the report suggests.” 

“So now you guys are talking about me behind my back?” Stiles’ jaw clenched and he got up, rinsing out his coffee cup, then hers, before he spoke again. “When did this conversation happen?” 

“While you were getting your things boxed up.” Lydia admitted. “I’m telling you to keep you informed, not to hurt you. I don’t know why Peter Hale thinks you’re going to save the world, or whatever it is that’s on his mind, but I do know that you’re the only one on the team that I really trust. I want you to trust me, too. I know it’s been years since we were together, but I’ve never lied to you or betrayed you. Let me help you. Please?” 

Stiles sat back down across from Lydia. “Fine.” He squinted at her for a second, then exhaled slowly. “But full disclosure, from here on out. I don’t need all the details of what happens when you’re in the bathroom, but if I ask you how often you go in a day, I expect an answer. A true answer. I know it’s a lot to ask, but everything else has gone to hell.” 

“I know.” Lydia nodded. “Three.” 

Stiles laughed. “It was an example!” 

**

“I’m going to meet some people tonight.” Peter told Stiles, the next day. “I’ve already made the arrangements and informed Jackson and Rafael of my plans, but I don’t want to eat dinner alone while I wait. So what you’re going to do is come with me.” He frowned at Stiles’ clothes. “You’re going to want a different tie.” 

“Why do I have to have dinner with you? Why can’t Lydia do it?” Stiles looked toward the redhead, who calmly flipped him off and went back to reading over a report she had requested. 

“Because Lydia, lovely as she is, isn’t the person I requested to speak with. You are.” Peter turned, calling out to the other agents. “Does anyone have a tie that doesn’t look like it came from a bargain bin?” 

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to thwart the headache he could feel coming. “Okay!” He snapped. “I’ll have dinner with you, but you’re going to actually answer my questions. No more vague Mr. Miyagi shit.” 

“Your references are a little outdated and leave something to be desired.” Peter started walking, leaving Stiles to hurry to catch up to him. “I have a reservation at an Italian place in Redding, and we’re going to be late if we don’t go now. Nevermind the tie, just take it off and they’ll have to get over it. You should buy something nicer this weekend. I guess Lydia could be useful, in that regard. You’re not using her in other ways, are you?” 

Stiles moved quickly, slamming Peter up against the exterior wall of the warehouse. He braced his forearm against the older man’s neck, glaring at him, though he spoke quietly. “If you ever say one word about her again, I’ll make good on that threat from the other day. But I think I’ll start by pulling out every single one of your teeth. I know you heal fast. Do you regenerate bones? Because I think that could be an interesting thing to learn.” 

“Point made.” Peter murmured. 

Stiles stepped back, letting Peter go. 

“You do realize, I assume, that if I had wanted to, I could have ripped you to pieces?” Peter got into the rental car that Stiles had finally procured for himself. 

“You could have gotten started.” Stiles agreed. “But I don’t care if I die. I’d just take you with me.” 

“That’s not a healthy attitude.” Peter gave Stiles the restaurant’s address, eyeing the cars filling with agents behind them, from the car’s side mirror. 

Stiles drove out of the lot. “I think it is, though.” He argued. “And your opinion doesn’t mean shit to me.” 

“Then why do you keep asking why I chose you?” Peter smiled. “I think it’s a little telling that you agreed to have dinner with me, so easily.” 

“It’s food and a job, all at once.” Stiles corrected. “I get to have pasta, you get to lead us to a coven of witches or a nest of vampires or whatever a group of ghosts is called. I do want to know why I’m such a big deal to you, but I know better than to expect a real answer.” 

“Does that mean you don’t consider this a date?” Peter teased as he glanced over at Stiles. 

“I’m married, and even if I wasn’t, you’re not my type.” Stiles shook his head. 

“Malia is, though?” Peter laughed when he didn’t get an answer. “I’m allowed to mention Malia to you, but I don’t get to talk about Lydia? You’re not a very devoted husband.” 

“It was the way you were talking about Lydia. You implied that I was cheating on Malia with Lydia, and that’s not the kind of person I am. I’m not sure what I’m going to do about Malia, but I know that you don’t get to have an opinion on my marriage or my friendships.” Stiles took his hands off the steering wheel at a red light, cracking his knuckles and rubbing the back of his neck. Having to sit beside a man who could kill him wasn’t helping his anxiety at all. Despite what he had said to Peter, he didn’t have a death wish. 

“Fine, you aren’t my date, then.” Peter said easily. “Maybe a relative?” 

“We look alike, to you?” Stiles shook his head. 

“There are other ways to be related.” Peter insisted. “You could be my son-in-law, maybe.” 

Stiles’ head turned so quickly that he thought he might have given himself whiplash. “What?” 

“Or a nephew.” Peter continued, ignoring Stiles’ horrified expression. “I have a nephew. He’s a few years older than you are. And a real thorn in my side. You would probably get along with him. Like family.” 

“I swear to god, if you don’t shut up-” Stiles took a deep breath in, exhaling slowly. 

“Go on.” Peter grinned. “What would you do? You’ve already threatened to sodomize me and extract my teeth, this week. I guess there’s not a whole lot left. I don’t have that many orifices for you to play around with. Maybe that’s why you tried to make a new one for me?” 

Stiles kept his teeth clenched as he drove the rest of the way to the restaurant. He would have liked to kill Peter, but he knew that would only get him a prison sentence. He dutifully followed the werewolf into the restaurant, sitting down across from him when they were led to their table. 

Peter eyed the bartender and the waiter, then shook his head. “This isn’t going to work. The people I wanted to meet with are going to take one look at this place and realize that half of the wait staff are Feds. They’re not coming in here.” He reached across the table suddenly and grabbed Stiles’ wrist. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles blurted. 

“Listen to me.” Peter spoke, but it wasn’t to Stiles. “I know you’ve got eyes and ears on me right now, like you’re a little pack all your own. Everybody falls back in the next ten seconds and gives me three minutes to try to do some damage control, or I’m going to bite your golden boy here and leave the mess for you to deal with. There’s a fifty-fifty chance that he’ll die from the venom I’ll infect him with. Maybe to you, he’s expendable. But that rift isn’t closing without his assistance. You could call my bluff, but I think you’re smarter than that.” 

Stiles watched as the bartender and waiter walked outside, to a van. The door of the van slid open, and he could see Jackson and Danny inside. “Jesus christ.” He brought his free hand to his face, covering his eyes for a second as he tried to regain control of his breathing. He barely noticed Peter letting go, but he heard running footsteps before it occurred to him that he should follow, and not let Peter get away.

Half an hour later, it was clear that he had failed in that task, and Jackson was furious about it. “You let him get away!” 

“Me?” Stiles shook his head. “You had the wrong people working in here. He spotted them in two seconds and said he needed to do damage control! He wants that rift fixed, he’s not getting it done without my help, or so he thinks, at least. He’ll be back in contact with me soon enough, and when he is, I’ll convince him to work with the rest of you.” 

“What the hell was all that talk, anyway?” Jackson continued, mollified slightly by Stiles’ promise. “All that crap about ‘you could be my nephew.’ Are you his nephew?” 

“Look at me and judge for yourself.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Do I look a damned thing like Peter Hale? He’s what, Irish, maybe? British? I’m Polish. Maternally and paternally. He also said I could be his date. You see me sucking his dick?” 

Jackson recoiled. “I really hope not to, ever.” 

“Then stop fucking bothering me and go find him.” Stiles waved a hand toward the surveillance van. “But you’re wasting your time, anyway. You’re not going to see him again tonight. He’ll find me when he needs something, and if you really want, I can call you before I call anyone else.” 

Jackson sighed. “He’s number four. On the most wanted list. Did you know that?” 

“I’m actually more interested in catching the lesser-knowns.” Stiles murmured. “I’m not saying that the more notorious criminals don’t matter. They do. They all do. But the woman that drowns all of her kids in the bathtub is a bigger deal to me than the guy who flies around the world and speaks a few different languages. I mean, he got where he is because he knows a little about a lot of people, and that’s why we’re working with him.” 

“Then you should’ve been a cop.” Jackson opened the door to the van. “What the hell?” 

“That’s _Hale_.” Peter smiled, amused. “It took you long enough to find me, Jackson. Maybe if you spent less time blaming your misfortune on others, you would accomplish more. And Stiles? I'm flattered that you assume going on a date with me means fellating me. You’re not my type either, however.” 

“Shut up!” Both agents yelled. Stiles and Jackson exchanged looks as Peter laughed. 

“How do work husbands exchange vows? I’m curious.” Peter stood up. “I’m going to leave again, and you won’t ever find me, if you don’t do a couple of things for me. One, I want a tracking device, of my own choosing, planted on me. Not the one you gave me. I already removed that, by the way. Two, I want you to hire a couple of people to protect me. I’ll give you the names, you get them here.” 

**

Lydia handed file folders to Stiles and Jackson, when they got back to the warehouse. She watched as Rafael and a couple of other agents led Peter back to his holding cell, staying silent until they were gone. “Chris and Victoria Argent.” She began. “They were married in the early nineties, but they got divorced exactly one year and one day after their ceremony. She kept the last name, but they’ve never been in the same city at the same time, since the divorce was finalized. Chris raised a daughter. Allison. Chris has already agreed to come help Peter, but Victoria said she’ll only come assist when she’s really needed. In Victoria’s stead, Allison is going to help her father. It is currently six a.m. in Paris, and they’re boarding a flight in four hours. They’re arriving tomorrow afternoon, and we’re sending a driver to get them and bring them straight here. There’s nothing more we can do tonight, but I advise you to read the information I gave you and be prepared for tomorrow. But do that at home.” She smiled tensely. “And congratulations, you’ve survived your first week.” 

“Want to go get a drink to celebrate?” Jackson smiled at Lydia. 

“Yes.” Lydia smiled back. “But not with you. I’m having a glass of wine as soon as I get home.” She picked up her coat. “And I’m leaving to do that, right now.” 

“I guess I can’t be too upset about this.” Jackson shook his head. “You dated Stilinski, you wouldn’t want me. We’re worlds apart. But what’d you see in him, anyway?” 

Lydia had lost track of the number of times she had told Jackson that he was violating workplace behavior standards. She sighed, then smirked. “I had about ten reasons why I liked him.” 

“Ten?” Jackson repeated. “What are they?” The expression on his face changed when he realized what Lydia was hinting at. “Ten?!” He said again, staring at Stiles. 

“I’m not commenting.” Stiles shook his head, smiling. “Good night. See you tomorrow.” He followed Lydia outside. “You could just tell him you’re interested.”

“My way is more fun.” Lydia grinned. “Go get some sleep. You look terrible.” 

“Do I get to say that to you when your world falls apart?” Stiles grumbled, but he nodded in agreement with her and got into his car. The drive home didn’t take very long, and he was grateful for the warmth of the car’s heater. He carried the file folder into the house and opened a beer while he waited for leftover Chinese food to heat up in the microwave. 

Chris Argent sold weapons and ammunition to law enforcement. He had at least a dozen houses in the United States, and two more in France. Stiles skimmed over most of the information on the man’s assets and bank accounts. Victoria Argent’s information was equally boring to him. She traveled to every part of the world, purchasing clothing for stores and fabric for designers. On paper, both careers sounded lucrative, but Stiles knew that they were just as likely to be fronts for any number of things. The fact that Peter counted them among his friends had Stiles convinced that both of the elder Argents were shady. Chris’ daughter, Allison, might not be guilty of anything - but she was working with her father, so Stiles wasn’t going to rule that possibility out. Despite being a year older than him, the brunette had graduated from high school the same year that he did, and she could have bought her way into an Ivy League school. Instead, she had enrolled in a community college in Ohio and transferred to a nearby university a couple of years later. Admittedly, Stiles knew next to nothing about money laundering, but he wondered if a cheap education could be used for that purpose. He made a note to look into it on the page he was reading, then finished his beer and rinsed out the bottle, putting it in the recycling bin. He turned off lights as he went through the house, double-checking the locks on the front door before he went upstairs to his bedroom. He eyed the wooden box full of Malia’s alter egos, but stopped himself from reaching for it. He had gone through every passport, memorized every detail of each one, and looking at them again wouldn’t give him any answers. He had to hear everything from Malia, herself. Just as he was about to fall asleep, Stiles sat up in bed and grabbed his phone from the table beside it. He called Lydia, raking his fingers through his hair as he waited for her to answer. 

“Stiles, you’re interrupting what was supposed to be a great night.” Lydia sounded irritated. “This had better be important.” 

“It is.” Stiles blurted. “Argent. Their last name. Kate Argent was the one who stabbed Malia. That can’t be a coincidence. It’s not like it’s Smith or Jones, or... whatever, I don’t care about examples, I just need to know that I’m wrong. Tell me I’m wrong.” 

**

“You weren’t wrong.” Lydia spoke quietly, holding a small stack of stapled papers out to Stiles, the next morning. They had agreed to meet at the same cafe that Peter had made Stiles come to, days before. She watched as he ordered a coffee and a green pepper omelette. She ordered a mushroom and egg white omelette for herself, along with a glass of orange juice. “What are we doing here?” 

“You said it yourself.” Stiles murmured. “I’m a creature of habit. Nobody’s going to think it’s weird that I’m here, ordering the exact same thing I got the other day. We can talk about whatever we want now, and it won’t matter. So talk.” 

“Kate Argent is Chris Argent’s sister.” Lydia nodded. “Chris was born in nineteen sixty-seven, and Kate was born in nineteen eighty-three. They have both parents in common, which I’m only mentioning because I assumed that the age gap meant that there was a divorce or a death, followed by Gerard remarrying. Chris and Victoria had to be legally married for one year to receive a trust fund from Gerard. They kept their divorce proceedings quiet, and Gerard was furious when he found out that he had been played. He suffered a heart attack, but recovered and moved into a retirement community in Florida. He travels with the other retirees. Kate visited him, but that stopped in two thousand-eleven. Her whereabouts are unknown from April of that year, until you saw her in your house. She went to an ATM and paid cash for a coffee downtown, here in Beacon Hills. She hasn’t been seen since then, though. No hotel stays under any alias that Danny could find. And Danny can find everything.” 

Stiles smiled politely at the waitress and thanked her when she brought their plates. He cut a piece off of his omelette as he spoke to Lydia. “Any idea how Peter knows them? Do you think he sent Kate to my house?” 

“It’s possible.” Lydia shook her head, despite her words of agreement. “If Peter wants your help as badly as he claims, leaving a clear trail that leads back to him wouldn’t do him any favors. He’s not in the top ten because he’s sloppy. It’s more likely, given the evidence you have so far, that Kate and Malia know one another and Peter’s involvement with Kate’s brother is a separate bit of information. Or that Kate used her family connections to figure out where Peter was and then traced him to you, that way. Peter’s behavior, so far, shows that he would prefer to take credit for something than to pretend he had no idea it was going on.”

“That would hold, if I hadn’t outright told Peter about Kate.” Stiles smiled and took a bite of his breakfast as Lydia swore at him. 

“Remember me saying that you can trust me? Not telling me something like that is a problem.” Lydia looked around, waving a hand at the waitress and asking for the check. “So, Stiles. How many times have you gone to the bathroom today?” 

“Once.” Stiles grinned. “But I was in there for awhile, and you only get two guesses about what I was doing.” He laughed when she threw a napkin at him. “Okay, I’ll shut up. I don’t trust Peter. I definitely don’t trust Chris. Jury’s still out on Allison, but I think we should examine their financial records closely. That’s your expertise, so get on with that. Why would a rich girl like Allison go to a cheap school for college?” 

“Maybe she had bad grades?” Lydia suggested. 

“And didn’t buy her way into Yale or Harvard?” Stiles shook his head. “I worked my ass off to be Salutatorian because I knew better than to try to compete with you, and I made it into Columbia. It doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have sold my own father to get into Harvard. Besides, then we would have been closer together.” 

“And I would have refused to date you ever again. You know how loyal I am to MIT.” Lydia smiled. “You’re assuming things in algebraic terms. A plus B doesn’t always equal C. We don’t know what Allison is like, and we won’t even find out how she greets people in person for another few hours.” 

“So, what then? If she says ‘hey, y’all,’ we ask for her high school transcripts?” Stiles snorted. 

“No.” Lydia laughed. “But we could try to befriend her. See where her interests lie and take advantage of that, as best as we can.” 

“Honey pot?” Stiles surmised. “Not with this ring on my finger.” He waved his left hand at her. 

“Do it, anyway.” Lydia insisted. “If you flirt with her and she flirts back, even after seeing your ring? We at least have a better idea of what kind of person she is.” 

**

Stiles didn’t care what kind of person Allison was, but he cared what kind of person _he_ was. When the car arrived with Chris and Allison, everyone was waiting by the entrance, like a bunch of lemmings. Stiles hung back from the crowd, to the left of the doors. 

Peter stood to the right of them, and he kissed both of Chris’ cheeks when he greeted his friend. He reached for Allison, but the woman shook her head at him and took a step back, bringing her hand up to shake his. 

“Nice to meet you.” Allison said calmly, but her tone said otherwise. 

Stiles liked her already, but her dark hair made him think of his wife. It didn’t matter what Malia had done, she had never done anything to Stiles, as far as he knew. She didn’t deserve to be stabbed and left to die, and definitely not by Allison’s aunt. Remembering that, he frowned and went back to his desk. 

“Hi, I didn’t get introduced to you yet.” Allison smiled widely as she held her hand out to Stiles. Her other hand clutched her coat. “I’m Allison.” 

“Stiles.” Stiles replied. He didn’t reach for her hand. “I have a lot of files to go over and some interviews to conduct, so if you don’t mind-” 

“I don’t mind helping, thanks!” Allison said smoothly, smiling again when Stiles stared up at her. “Listen, everyone else here is looking at me like they think I’m going to let them fuck me or like they’re taking bets on when I’m going to cry. I recognize both of those expressions because I moved around a lot. I’m well-versed in being the new girl. Special Agent Martin gave me this once-over like she hates me, but she said she likes my coat. That’s probably the most honest reaction I got from anyone else. Except for you. It probably says something about me that I’m standing here, babbling at you while you look like you want to stab me with your pen, and I feel more comfortable around you for that, than anyone else here. So please, if you want me to get you a cup of coffee, I’d actually really be willing to do that. Or anything. Just as long as I don’t have to work with one of the ‘fuck me’ guys.” 

“I’m pretty sure all you’re supposed to do is make sure Peter doesn’t die.” Stiles shrugged. “And maybe he’s not one of the ‘fuck me’ guys, like you said? More like a ‘Fuck! Me!’ kind of guy.” He laughed. “Every time I have to talk to him, that’s what I mutter to myself, you know?” 

“Did you see him try to kiss my cheeks?” Allison grabbed Jackson’s desk chair and dragged it over to Stiles’ desk as she spoke. She sat down, facing Stiles. “What the hell was that? And my dad didn’t even care. He was smiling.” 

“So instead of being your ‘daddy,’ Peter might become your Daddy?” Stiles smirked. 

“Can you start the paperwork on putting me into Witness Protection, if that happens?” Allison giggled. “Stiles - wait, can I call you that, or are you one of those guys who makes everyone think his first name is Agent?” 

“Stiles is fine.” Stiles assured her. 

“Not when you insist on showing up in Walmart clothes.” Jackson retorted, sauntering past them. He paused, turning to face Allison and Stiles. “You took my chair.” He told Allison. 

“Oh, did I?” Allison smiled sweetly. “Sorry. I think I saw some in the break room, though. You should be able to get one from in there.” 

Stiles watched Jackson’s face turn red before the other agent stormed off. “Well, you should know that I couldn’t possibly hate you, after what you just did.” He began. “Secondly, you’re not here to be my secretary, so you don’t have to get me coffee.” 

“I was joking, anyway. If you ever ask me to get you coffee, you shouldn’t drink it when I bring it to you.” Allison made a face. “Okay, that was really juvenile. I’m actually sorry for that. This could be why I don’t have any friends. Am I allowed to help you, or is all of this stuff confidential?” 

Stiles thought about Lydia’s suggestion, that he flirt with Allison to see if she reciprocated, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “You probably would need to have clearance.” He told her. “But odds are good that Peter is going to make some stupid, frivolous demand, right around dinner time. So you’ve got about four or five hours before that happens. You could go to the bed-and-breakfast and sleep for awhile?” 

Allison smiled. “How did you know that I was staying there?” 

“There are only two places to stay in this town, if you don’t live in it.” Stiles murmured. “The motel is tiny and old, and hasn’t been updated since probably before I was born. The B-and-B has a few rooms, too. They’re higher in price and you can guarantee that the sheets get washed. The next closest place that I’m aware of is more than half an hour from here. That’s not really conducive to being at Peter’s beck and call, so it would have to be somewhere in Beacon Hills.” 

“Hmm, so you profile people.” Allison grinned. “That’s fine, I sort of do it, too. Not as a profession, obviously. But anyway. Profile me? Like, right now. Tell me everything about me. You’re like a fortune teller, but without the generalizations.” 

Stiles shrugged. He tilted his head, studying her. “You came straight here from the airport, but you already have a place to stay when you’re done here. You either worry a lot, or you’re meticulous. I’m going with ‘worry a lot.’ Your fingernails are jagged, like you’ve been biting them. Your dad is staying in the motel. It’s closer to this place and he doesn’t care about the quality of the bed he sleeps in. He’s more rested than you. He slept on the flight. Besides, you said ‘where I’m staying,’ not ‘where we’re staying.’” He smiled. “You not only didn’t sleep on the flight, you drank coffee to stay awake. Or maybe it was an energy drink. I don’t know everything. You were told to befriend me at all costs, by your dad, and you take your orders seriously. He doesn’t trust me because Peter does trust me, which is the same reason I don’t trust him. You’re a wild card. Peter didn’t ask for you directly, but he did ask for Victoria. If he’s kept in touch with your dad and they’re friends, then Peter should know that Victoria would decline, and needing a second person would mean that someone had to take her place. You might think you were volunteering yourself, but you got played.” 

“By my dad, or by Peter?” Allison asked automatically. “I’ve had a twelve hour flight and no sleep in the past twenty-four hours, and I still can’t figure that out.”

“Tough call.” Stiles kept his voice down, even though Peter and Chris had gone somewhere with McCall and a few other agents. “Peter made the request, but your dad might’ve known it was coming. Which brings me to an awkward question. Did you know that your aunt was out here, earlier this week?” 

Allison stared at him. “Is that supposed to be funny, Agent Stilinski?” She scowled. “My aunt died in this town, nine years ago.” 

Stiles frowned at her and leaned down, reaching for the handle of his bottom desk drawer. He was going to show her that she was wrong, that he had proof of Kate going to the ATM.

_’She moves like she don’t care, smooth as silk, cool as air.’_

Stiles sat up straight, staring at his cell phone. Two years earlier, when he was programming Malia’s number into his phone, she had insisted on him using Maria by Blondie as a ringtone for her. At the time, he had thought it was a cute quirk, since it wasn’t even her name. Now, all he could think of was Maria Espinoza, one of Malia’s aliases. He wondered if it was her real name all along, and he just hadn’t known. He grabbed the phone by the time it stopped ringing, since it had only just occurred to him that he should. Calling her back, he murmured a quick “excuse me” to Allison, practically running to get to his car, where he could speak to his wife privately. 

“Stiles?” Malia sounded relieved when she answered. “Honey, I’m awake!” She laughed. “I mean, obviously, right? But anyway, I can come home, the day after tomorrow. I know I’ve been asleep for days, but I’ve missed you. I’m so glad you brought my cell phone charger and kept it plugged in for me, so I could call you. You think of everything. Have you missed me?” 

“Yeah.” Stiles got choked up. “Yeah, Mal, I’ve missed you.” 

“Will you come visit me now?” Malia asked, her tone making her sound like a frightened child. 

Stiles clenched his fist, wondering if she meant it, or if it was just another lie. He didn’t know if he cared about that anymore. “I have to finish up some things here.” He said quietly. “But I’ll be there tonight.” 

**

Two days later, Stiles unlocked their front door and picked Malia up, laughing as he carried her into the house. The carpet hadn’t been too hard to match, and it covered the room from one end to the other. The box was safely back under the floorboards, and Stiles was determined to forget about it. He hadn’t seen Allison since she accused him of lying to her, but he had only gone back into the warehouse long enough to gather his things and go to the hospital. Tomorrow, he would call her and show her that Kate wasn’t as dead as Allison had been led to believe. Tonight, he was busy.

~~~***~~~

**Soundtrack:**

**The Neighbourhood - Let It Go  
Blondie - Maria**


	3. Apex Dynamic

_Thursday, October 8, 2020_

“I was thinking about going for a nice, long walk today.” Malia smiled at Stiles. “Or a run. I could go for a run. It’s so weird, being alive after being certain that I was going to die. It’s like now, I can do just about anything, and I want to do everything. And nothing’s really changed. I mean, being home feels weird, you know? Because we barely had time to think of this place as being home. But it is. It’s home.” She pouted at her husband. “Are you even listening?” 

“Yeah.” Stiles nodded, sitting up straight. “Sorry, my mind is elsewhere.” 

“Well, stop being gloomy.” Malia laughed. “Because I’m alive and that’s something to be happy about. I know it was scary, but it’s over, Stiles. We can move on and we can adopt, you know? It’ll be good, raising a little girl or a little boy here.” 

“Yeah?” Stiles looked up at her. “Should the kids call you Mom or Mommy? Or are you gonna go more modern and let them use your first name?” 

“I guess if they want to call me Malia, since they’re adopted, that’s okay.” Malia shrugged. 

“Not Maria or Matilda or Marjorie?” Stiles stared at her, his smile cold. “Or what’s another one that was cute... Mitzi. I think it takes guts, making an ID with a name that sounds like it belongs to a puppy. You could go for broke and call yourself Rover, next time you need an alias.” 

Malia folded her arms across her chest. “You went through my things.” She muttered. “Why?” 

“Well, god, let me think.” Stiles snapped. “Why? Why did I spend a couple of hours trying to scrub your blood out of the carpet? Why did I give up and tear it to pieces, trying to get rid of it, so that you wouldn’t be reminded that you almost died in this house? I wasn’t looking for any kind of proof that you’re a liar, _Martha Marcy May Marlene_. It just kind of fell into my lap. You know what else we should talk about? You don’t have any scars. You got stabbed in the thigh and in the chest, and the doctors were repairing the damage for a couple of hours, stitching the holes in your body shut. But it’s been just over a week and there’s no evidence that it ever happened, anywhere on your body.” 

“Let me get this straight.” Malia glared. “You went through my things and didn’t say anything to me, and then you brought me home, still not saying shit? And while I slept, you did what, exactly? Stripped me naked to look for marks on me?” 

“No.” Stiles shook his head. “But when you sleep in a pair of my boxers and a tank top, and move around as much as you do? Your shirt bunches up. Even if it hadn’t, there’s no indication that you were stabbed in the thigh. Stop trying to turn this around on me, you’ve been lying to me about who you are for two years!” 

“And you tell me everything?” Malia smiled, shaking her head. “Are you sure you’re not hiding anything from me?” 

“What would I be hiding?” Stiles licked his lips. “You’re still not getting it. You’re still trying to make me feel guilty for things that aren’t my fault. How did you get this house, Malia? Lydia said it would take-” 

“Lydia said?” Malia interrupted. “You still talk to Lydia?” 

“She works with me.” Stiles sighed, knowing that they were about to start yelling at each other. He felt like he was unable to stop it from happening. 

Malia stood up. “Since _when_?” 

“Since I got here. I was going to say something, but there wasn’t time because a psychotic bitch was using you _like a pincushion_!” Stiles yelled, slamming his hands down on the table as he stood up, across from her. “Explain to me why a house you claim to have bought on a whim had a box in the floorboards, full of passports with your face and other names. Can you at least do that for me?” 

“No, I can’t.” Malia shook her head. “At least, not yet.” 

“Then it’s a good thing you’ve been avoiding unpacking your boxes.” Stiles clenched and unclenched his fists. “Because you need to take your things and get out.” 

Malia faltered. “But this-” 

“Is your safehouse?” Stiles finished for her, smirking. “I figured, but I don’t care. I don’t care where you go, either. You just can’t be here. I’m going to call Lydia.” He knew it was cruel, but his angry smile grew wider as he watched Malia’s reaction to his words. “And I’m going to tell her that I can’t come in right now. I’m going to help you get your stuff the hell out of here, and then I’m going to change the locks. Do you want me to book you a flight out of the country, while I’m at it? I mean, you’ve got all those passports, you should be able to use at least one of them.” 

**

“You’re late.” Peter chided Stiles, that afternoon. “I thought your entire persona was built around pretending to be Batman and catching criminals.” 

“Yeah, well, I caught one.” Stiles muttered. “But forget it, what do you want?” 

“I want you to trust me.” Peter motioned for Stiles to sit down by him. “Tell me what’s been going on.” 

“All right, but give me a second.” Stiles called out to Jackson, Lydia, Danny and Rafael. “I have something that you need to be made aware of.” He turned back toward Peter as he waited for everyone else to join them. “Where’s your Kevin Costner?” 

“I’m begging you to watch movies made before nineteen-eighty and after nineteen ninety-seven.” Peter muttered. “Chris is taking care of something for me. As is Allison.”

Stiles looked around at the team. “I have reason to believe that Malia is a werewolf.” He began. “She’s got no scars from being stabbed, and no difficulty breathing or walking. She also has at least six fake IDs and passports to match, and she’s currently wherever the hell lying criminals go. Peter, where is that, exactly?” 

Peter smirked. “I prefer Costa Rica. I have no idea where your wife wandered off to.” 

“Whatever.” Stiles muttered. “I’ve already filed for divorce, and she signed the papers. They’ll be processed by the end of the day. Any further activity on her part has nothing at all to do with me. I just wanted to make sure you all knew that, because I had enough of being blamed for shit that this asshole does.” He gestured to Peter. “I don’t know what in the world is going on here, but if I don’t get some answers soon, you can reassign me and get yourself someone actually willing to tolerate him.” 

“Peter.” Rafael felt like he was dealing with preschoolers. “Cooperate or go to prison. Your choice.” He walked away. 

Peter smiled politely. “Stiles, what would you like to know?” 

“Are you related to Malia?” Stiles demanded. 

“Not every werewolf is related. It’s not some sort of cult or strange genetic disorder, like that family with blue skin.” Peter remarked. 

Lydia put her hand on Stiles’ forearm, stopping him from losing his temper. “Peter.” She said carefully. “Are you acquainted with Malia’s family?” 

Peter grinned slowly. “Yes.” 

“Will you tell us who she really is?” Stiles caught on to what Lydia was doing. If they asked their questions directly, Peter always deflected. He wanted them to be vague, he wanted to play games. If they didn’t let him, they would get nowhere. 

“I can tell you that her name is Malia.” Peter nodded. 

“Malia Tate?” Lydia asked. 

“What about her?” Peter murmured 

Stiles’ jaw clenched, but he forced himself to stay calm and think everything through. He was having trouble, and debated the merits of getting a cattle prod and making Peter talk between jolts. 

Lydia squeezed Stiles’ arm and spoke again. “Have you ever bought a house here in Beacon Hills?”

“Yes.” Peter laughed. “This is fun, isn’t it? Come on, ask me another one.”

“Or instead of that, you could take on another case.” Jackson suggested. “Like we’re being paid to do?” 

“I’m not getting paid.” Peter shook his head. 

“If I duct-taped your lips shut and then ripped the tape off and your lips just happened to come with it, how long would it take them to grow back?” Stiles grinned when Peter’s smile faded. He stood up and started walking toward his desk, but Peter’s next words stopped him. 

“I can tell you actual facts about Malia, if you want.” 

“Don’t.” Lydia advised. “He’s not happy unless you’re focused on him. He feeds on your irritation. Let’s just go work on a real case.” 

“I know her father’s name.” Peter wheedled. 

Stiles gave Lydia an apologetic look, then turned to face Peter. “Okay, what’s her father’s name?” 

“Deucalion.” 

“Deucalion what?” Stiles folded his arms across his chest. 

“It’s just Deucalion.” Peter laughed at Stiles’ expression. “He’s from the UK, where having a mononym is perfectly legal.” 

“Then how did Malia get Tate as a last name?” Stiles protested. 

“Well, he raised her here in the United States, I’m assuming he had to give her a surname, and Tate seems harmless enough.” Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. You could always just find him and ask him. But before you do that, I have a job for you. It’s a very good one.” 

“What is it?” Lydia rolled her eyes when Peter laughed in delight. “He’s such a child.” 

“I can hear you perfectly well, there’s no need to mutter. Today, I want you to fly to New York City and pay a visit to the CEO of Apex Dynamic. Be charming and see if you can get some of her files. There are lots of interesting bits of information there.” 

“The woman in charge of a multi-billion dollar conglomerate isn’t going to have a single second to talk to us, and definitely not on short notice.” Stiles snorted. “You might want to try asking to see her sometime this century, you’d get a better shot at talking to her.” 

“Did I say I was going?” Peter smiled. “I said I wanted _you_ to do this. You really should pay attention. I’m giving you very valuable skills here. I never lie, I just don’t always tell the truth.” 

“We’re going to have our hands full with things that have to be taken care of, out here.” Lydia remarked. “Where are you going to be while we’re flying to New York for absolutely no reason at all, wasting our time?” 

“I’m getting myself an apartment. It’s all cleared, Chris spoke to Rafael and they’ve agreed that I’m not a flight risk. Even if I were to disappear, you could always find me.” 

“Because you have a tracking device embedded in your - wait.” Stiles glanced at Lydia. “Who made the RFID chip that he insisted on having?” 

“Danny would have a better idea of that.” Lydia waved their tech expert over, ignoring Peter when he seemed to be getting too much enjoyment out of their confused expressions. 

“Who made Peter’s chip?” Stiles asked Danny.

“Some division of Apex Dynamic.” Danny mused. “Why?” 

Lydia and Stiles turned at the same time, staring in disbelief at Peter. 

“Really?” Stiles shook his head. “You either thought we wouldn’t make that connection, or you knew that we would. Which one is it? What kind of game are you playing with us, today?” 

“You know he’s not even going to answer you. Danny, do you want to come with us to meet the CEO of that company?” Lydia offered. “It’s probably not going to amount to anything, but it gets you out of here for the day and gives you something else to do.” 

“Sure.” Danny nodded. “I’ll just grab my coat.” 

“You’d better make that four tickets.” Jackson told Lydia. “You two,” he gestured to Lydia and Stiles, “keep leaving me out of things and I’m getting tired of that. We’re supposed to be able to work together and trust each other, and neither of you trusts me.” 

“Maybe because you hit on Lydia the second you met her?” Stiles suggested. 

“Or it could be the fact that you insult Stiles’ clothing, as a way to make yourself feel less inferior, due to the fact that Peter specifically asked for him. After all, everyone knows you wrote your research paper on Peter. You never stop talking about it.” Lydia smiled. “It’s almost sad.” 

“Hey. What are you guys talking about?” Allison smiled as she approached the group. 

“Jackson’s failings as a human being.” Danny grinned. 

“Oh, can I contribute?” Allison laughed. “Did you know that he keeps a can of Axe body spray in his car?” 

Jackson scowled. “Would one of you buy the four tickets to New York and shut the hell up?” 

“Five.” Allison corrected. “And I already took care of that. My dad doesn’t have anything he needs my help on today, and he encouraged me to come with all of you.” 

“By ‘encouraged,’ you mean he told you to follow orders and track us, and you decided coming with us just made more sense?” Stiles guessed. 

“Something like that.” Allison sighed. “I’m twenty-six, but he treats me like I’m a baby.” 

“Don’t.” Lydia cautioned Stiles, but she knew he was going to ignore her. 

“Is that why you went to a tiny community college, instead of somewhere like Yale?” Stiles asked. “For independence?” 

“I’m not mad.” Allison smiled at Lydia. “This is his job. And I did sort of ask him to do it, the other day. Yes, Stiles. I got myself an apartment, got a job, and worked during the two years it took for me to get my associate’s in communication studies. I also have a one-year technical certificate in crime-mapping. But you already knew that. They probably didn’t.” Allison gestured to Danny, Jackson and Lydia. “After that, I transferred to a four-year college that was practically down the road from the one I had been attending. And then my building caught on fire, so I kind of had to move.” 

“Caught on fire?” Peter repeated. “And you weren’t harmed?” 

“A little.” Allison unsnapped a leather cuff bracelet from her wrist, holding her arm up to show everyone her burn scars. “Dayton had a whole string of arsons for awhile. I don’t know if they ever caught the person responsible.” She turned toward Stiles. “I bet you could have handled it. You probably still could, if they haven’t figured it out.” 

“Unless it becomes a case that they give me, they’re on their own.” Stiles murmured. 

“Five dollars says you start researching arsons in Ohio on the flight to New York.” Lydia scoffed. 

Jackson got out his wallet and opened it, then looked up at Lydia. “I want in on this.” 

“No.” Stiles shook his head. “Put your wallet away.” 

**

“If you want to get in to see Ms. Rayne, you’re going to have to submit to a physical.” The blonde assistant said firmly. “We have enough doctors and nurses on the third floor that it shouldn’t take long, and none of you will have to wait for your turn. Once the information comes back to me and I know that you’ve all been cleared, you can speak to her. You’re also going to have to agree to getting a tracking device, if you don’t already have one implanted.” 

“Oh, is that all?” Jackson scoffed. “Listen - “ 

“Erica.” The blonde smiled, but there was an obvious warning in it. “Ms. Rayne knew you were coming, and she gave me specific instructions. I’m not supposed to let anyone through those doors until I get confirmation that they’ve been looked over and chipped. I’m also told that you’re familiar with the concept of werewolves.” She looked from one person to the next, smiling in satisfaction before her fangs descended. “So don’t think you can get through the doors. I will stop you. You end up with a broken arm, that’s your own fault.” 

“Does your boss know that you can do that?” Stiles asked, then answered his own question. “Of course she does. Okay. Third floor, you said?” 

“Yes.” Erica nodded. “I’ll let them know that you’re on your way.” She picked up a phone and dialed as she watched the group walk over to the elevator doors. 

“What the hell-” Jackson blurted, scowling when Stiles put a hand over his mouth.

Stiles shook his head. “Werewolves can hear everything.” He said quietly. “And we don’t know how many are in this building, so your best bet is to shut up for this elevator ride, got it?” 

Jackson nodded, but he glanced back at Erica and shuddered, thinking of her fangs. “What if we don’t want a chip shoved into us?” 

“Then you can sit out and wait.” Lydia was the first one on the elevator when the doors opened. 

Stiles got in after her, looking around for the security camera. He spotted two, pointing to each one as he stayed silent. 

Lydia nodded to Stiles and smiled faintly. 

Stiles turned his back to the doors, keeping his hands at chest-level and out of sight of both cameras as he started using sign language. ‘I’m not sure I like the idea of this. Those chips could have any number of things on them and it seems like a lot to do, just to talk to someone for a few seconds. We don’t even know what we’re hoping to learn.’ 

Lydia tilted her head. ‘Peter wants us to get files.’

‘Why, though?’ Stiles bit his lip. ‘It’s not like we’re going to let him read them. Do we even know what the connection is, between him and this place?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Allison surprised Lydia and Stiles by responding, after she was careful to angle her body in a way that prevented the cameras from seeing what she was doing. ‘If we refuse the chips, we don’t get the files. Get the chips, get the files, get out of here because this place is kind of creepy.’

Stiles smiled, nodding in agreement. 

The doors opened and everyone got out.

“This really won’t take long, we promise.” A nurse assured them, leading them to a large room with a dozen exam bays in it. ‘If you’re not squeamish, you could disrobe now. Just down to your underwear and socks. If you want a private exam room, we can arrange for that, instead?” 

Jackson lifted a hand, following the nurse out of the room. 

Stiles stepped out of his shoes and loosened the knot on his tie, sliding the strip of fabric away from his neck. He unbuttoned his shirt and took that off next, folding it and setting it on a shelf at the exam bay he had chosen for himself. He glanced up, faltering when he saw Lydia helping Allison unzip the back of her dress. 

“Don’t be a perv.” Lydia glanced at Stiles. She did a double take, reaching up toward the back of Allison’s neck. “You have a scar.” She blurted. “Right here.” She trailed her index finger over the jagged line of raised skin. 

“Yeah, I know. I’m not sure how it got there.” Allison shrugged. “Job hazard, I guess.” 

“No.” Lydia shook her head, crooking a finger at Stiles. “Come here!” She kept talking to the brunette as Stiles approached them. “It’s barely visible.” She told Allison. “Not unless you know to look for it. Stiles has one that’s almost identical.” She pushed his shoulder, getting him to turn around as she grabbed her cell phone to take a picture of the back of both of their necks, then held her phone up in front of Allison to show her. 

Allison grabbed the phone with one hand, reaching up to touch the back of her neck with the other. She glanced at Stiles. “Do you mind...” She asked, feeling a little embarrassed. 

Stiles shrugged and turned around again, giving Danny a bemused smile as Allison touched the scar on his neck. 

“Not that I needed the confirmation.” Danny called over to them, grinning. “But I am so very gay.” 

Lydia laughed. She sat down on her exam bed, taking her phone back from Allison. 

“I got my scar when I was a toddler. That must be when you got yours, or at least around the same time?” Stiles guessed. “Since you’re a year older than me. Strange that they’re the same, though.” 

“Yeah, the odds of that are practically nonexistent.” Lydia looked up at them. She knew that they needed some real answers. She still hadn’t figured out why she was having visions of children playing in the empty room of Stiles’ house, or how they were going to close the rift. But before she could say anything about any of that, she heard Jackson scream. 

Danny was closest to the door, and Lydia was right behind him, though she had the presence of mind to grab her coat and put it on as she left the room. Nurses blocked the door of Jackson’s private exam room. 

“What are you doing to him in there?” Lydia frowned. 

“Your friend has a fear of needles.” The nurse on the right laughed. “Everything is fine, but you really should get back. The doctors are coming and your exam will be done in a matter of minutes.” 

Lydia shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere until I can see that he’s all right.” She insisted. “Move out of my way, or you’re going to regret it.” 

The nurses exchanged looks, but the one on the right nodded to the one on the left, and they walked away from the door.

Lydia gave Danny a reassuring smile, even though she felt a little terrified, and she opened the door and peered in. “Jackson?” 

“I’m fine!” Jackson called out. “It was, uh...” He paused. “Fear of needles. That’s all. Go on, I’ll see you in a few minutes. Thanks for checking on me, though. And tell Danny I appreciate him coming out here, too. You can tell Stiles that he’s an asshole, though.” 

“Tell him yourself, like you do every day.” Lydia retorted. She laughed softly and stepped back into the hallway, closing the door. She followed Danny back to the large exam room, shrugging out of her coat and setting it aside as she sat back down on her exam table. 

The next half hour was spent with a doctor and nurse testing Lydia’s reflexes and pulling the curtain around her bed closed, to prevent any real awkward situations when they began their internal examination. 

“Excuse us.” The doctor stood up, leaving the curtain closed as he left the exam bay. The nurse went with him, and Lydia shivered as she rubbed her arms, wishing they had given her a blanket. She heard footsteps, and then Stiles stepped past the curtain. “You can’t just come in here.” She protested. “We need clear boundaries.” 

“I’m done with my exam already and got this.” Stiles patted his shoulder. 

Lydia sat up, taking the time to look at Stiles’ chest and arms. She hadn’t been paying attention before, since her only focus had been the scar on the back of his neck. “When did you get muscles?” 

Stiles laughed, offended. “Yeah, I’m not gonna answer that. I could practically hear you shivering.” He shook his head, getting her coat and handing it to her. “It’s the closest thing to a blanket they have in here.” 

“You heard me shiver.” Lydia repeated. 

“No, I just know that you get cold all the time.” Stiles smiled. “I would tell you if I was a werewolf.” 

“You’d better.” Lydia held the coat in front of her and put her arms through the sleeves, wearing the coat backwards to keep herself covered. “Okay, go away. Thank you.” 

Stiles snorted and walked away to get dressed. 

Lydia could hear zippers being pulled up, the stomping sound that Stiles made when he was having trouble getting his shoes on, and Allison’s soft murmur before Danny murmured back at her, followed by another zipper noise. The only other sound was the clock behind her, ticking like it was mocking her impatience. 

“Are you almost done?” Allison called through the curtain. “Sorry, we were just talking about getting something to eat after we meet with Laura Rayne, and Stiles wants pizza, but Danny wants Chinese food, and I don’t really care. What do you want?” 

“Thai.” Lydia smiled to herself. “It’s like Chinese food’s more intelligent cousin.” 

“Ouch.” Danny laughed. “I’m wounded.” 

“I don’t know what they’re doing.” Lydia sighed, swinging her legs like a little kid. Nobody could see her doing it, it didn’t count. “They just said that they would need a minute. Why don’t you guys go ask Jackson what he wants?”

When the room was silent again, except for the cruel tick-tick-tick behind her, Lydia practically clapped when she heard the door open. 

The doctor pushed the curtain aside. “Miss Martin-”

“Special Agent Martin.” Lydia corrected. “I’m not here to pick up my dry cleaning, I’m here on business. I wouldn’t refer to you as Mister.” 

“My apologies.” The doctor smiled gently. “We’re unable to give you a chip at this time, but Ms. Rayne insisted that you be allowed to come speak with her, anyway. We’re sorry for any inconvenience.” 

“It’s not a problem.” Lydia said lightly, getting up to grab her pants and put them on. “Thank you.” After the doctor left the room, Lydia turned suddenly and punched the clock. Glass shattered, and she could already feel blood welling up from the slashes in her skin. She stayed calm, rinsing off her hand at a sink and bandaging it with supplies from a cabinet. It gave her time to think, as she finished that task and got herself dressed. Rayne had demanded that all five of them get her RFID chip implanted, or she wouldn't speak to them, yet Lydia suddenly couldn’t have one and that was okay? She exhaled shakily, staying silent in the elevator ride back up to the top floor. She avoided the gazes of the other four, rushing off the elevator as soon as the doors were opened. She kept walking, ignoring Erica as she opened the door to Laura Rayne’s office. “Do I have cancer?” She blurted. 

“Excuse me?” The dark-haired woman looked up at Lydia, her pale blue eyes concerned. Her expression softened into a smile. “Lydia. No, you don’t have cancer. There were other things that prevented the doctor from giving you the chip, but it’s not anything you should worry about.” 

While Laura had been speaking, Stiles had followed Lydia into the room, with the others behind him. 

Lydia grabbed her gun from her shoulder holster, turning and pointing it at Stiles. 

Stiles’ eyes widened and he held his hands up, stunned. “Lydia, what the hell?” 

“I’ll shoot him.” Lydia said calmly, glancing quickly from Laura to Stiles. “I’ll kill him and you won’t be able to close the rift in the Preserve. That’s what you need him for, and I need answers. You either talk, or the whole world goes straight to hell.” 

“A little ripple in-” Stiles protested. 

“That _little_ ripple has been getting bigger with each passing day.” Lydia shook her head. “You think Peter’s playing mind games with you, so you don’t care about anything he has to say, or what this all might mean.”

“I think we should all calm down.” Jackson blurted. “I might not like him, but that doesn’t mean I’m fine with you shooting him.” 

“Erica, reschedule all of my appointments for tonight and tomorrow.” Laura spoke into her phone, then hung up when the assistant agreed. “Sit down, please. All of you.” 

Allison hesitated as Jackson and Danny moved to sit on a large sectional couch in one corner of the room. She reached for her own gun, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to aim it at Lydia. 

“It’s okay.” Stiles told Allison. “Just sit down. I’ll be right behind you.” 

“Okay.” Allison said quietly, taking a seat beside Danny. 

Stiles sat at the other end of the couch, Lydia beside him with her gun still trained on him. 

“For fuck’s sake, drop the gun.” Laura snapped. She reached out, wrapping a hand around Lydia’s wrist and forcing her to lower her weapon. “I don’t appreciate you threatening his life, and I’m very certain that Stiles also disapproves.” 

Lydia put her gun back into the holster. She folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them, fighting back tears. She wasn’t sure what was wrong with her.

Stiles reached over and rubbed Lydia’s back. “It’s okay.” He murmured, kissing the top of her head. 

“My name wasn’t always Laura Rayne.” Laura began. “Wait a second, I’m going to get my brother to come in here.” She sent a text message, looking up when the door opened a couple of minutes later, and a dark-haired man walked in. “Derek, come sit with me. I might forget a few details. You’re better at explaining things than I am. You can fill in the gaps for me.” 

“Okay.” Derek shrugged, sitting beside his sister. His shoulders tensed up and he gave everyone on the couch a quick once-over before he looked down at the floor. 

Laura huffed a laugh and nudged his shoulder before she spoke. “I’m going to tell you absolutely everything, and you’re not going to like any of it. You are welcome to leave right now and let someone else fill you in on the pertinent information. This really will take a while.” 

“I’m ordering pizza.” Derek muttered, getting his phone out of his pocket. 

“I love you.” Stiles blurted. 

Laura laughed openly, shaking her head. Nobody left the room, so she waited for Derek to place an order before she spoke again. “In two thousand and four, Kate Argent manipulated my brother into a relationship that she insisted should remain secret. Even though the Argents have made a name for themselves, hunting werewolves and other things, there was an understanding between our families. We got along really well, in fact. But Kate changed that. She wasn’t right, mentally. She set our house on fire in January of the next year, during a family party. Most of my family members died. I was in college and Derek was at a basketball game, when the fire happened. Our sister Cora survived, and so did our uncle, Peter.” 

“That happened to the Hales.” Stiles murmured. “Your last name is... oh.” 

Laura smiled sadly. “Yeah, I thought it would be a good idea for a fresh start, especially after Peter went off the rails. I wanted to honor my family’s name, but I still needed something different. Derek and I agreed on Rayne. We’re trying to maintain a solid business, and we didn’t think an obvious connection to our derelict uncle would help.” 

“We lost another uncle, in the fire. Seth.” Derek added. “And our father’s sister. She wasn’t a werewolf, and neither was her son. They both died, as well. Of the eleven people who were in the house, only three survived the fire. Peter disappeared that night and when he came back, our sister and our cousin... they were the other survivors. They were gone. He wouldn’t tell us what he did with them, but being in charge of this company gave Laura an advantage. She managed to locate them, and she found out a few other things, too. It took some work to get Peter’s help, but he finally decided to listen to us, and that’s why you’re all here, now.” 

“I feel like one of you hit fast-forward on most of the conversation.” Stiles frowned. “So we’re going to tell you what we need answered, and you’re going to answer it.” 

“That’s fair.” Laura sighed. 

“Allison and I have scars on the backs of our necks. One of us, by ourselves, is nothing. But two identical scars, in the exact same place? I don’t suppose you know something about that.” Stiles muttered. 

“I definitely want an answer for this, too.” Allison said quietly. She glanced over at Stiles, then looked back at Laura. 

Laura got up and pressed a button on her desk. The blinds closed automatically, and lights turned on above a whiteboard. She picked up a marker and started writing names, drawing lines between them as she spoke. “Rebecca and Edward Hale had three children: Talia, Peter and Seth. Talia married Andrew Lisowski, who took her last name, because that’s tradition in my family. You marry a Hale, you become a Hale.” Her voice cracked a little, and she paused to stop herself from sobbing. When the moment passed, she spoke again. “Andrew, my father, had a sister named Claudia. And Claudia married Noah Stilinski, who had-” 

“Me.” Stiles interrupted. “So that makes you my cousin.” He looked at Derek. “Both of you.” 

“Yep, so no wedding bells for that pizza.” Laura laughed. “Peter married a woman named Corinne, and they had two daughters. First, there was Andrea, who was sort of named after Andrew. A year later, Talia and Andrew paid that courtesy back by having a daughter that they named Cora, after Corinne. And that same year, Peter and Corinne had another daughter.” Laura took a deep breath, then wrote ‘Malia’ under the line she had drawn, to show that Peter and Corinne had two children. 

“What.” Stiles gulped. “Malia is my-” 

“No!” Derek said quickly. “She’s my cousin, but she’s not your cousin. Look.” 

Stiles got up, walking over to the whiteboard to study each name. He could feel everyone else watching him, and there was a very important question that he had to ask, but he was afraid to. Once the words were out, he wouldn’t be able to stop everything from falling down around him. 

Laura watched her cousin, her fingers trembling. She wanted to hug him, but she knew it was too much, too soon. 

“You said...” Stiles cleared his throat and looked over at Laura. “You said that your human aunt and her son died. But I'm the human son.” 

“You know that rift that you’re supposed to help close?” Laura smiled sadly. 

**

_Peter wasn’t sure that he would ever get the scent of smoke out of his clothes. He held a tiny hand in each of his own, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that Laura was still behind him._

_Laura took a couple of steps to get closer to her sister and cousin. She took Cora’s free hand in her own, leaning to look across the row of Hales, toward Andrea. “Do you need anything? Do you have to pee?”_

_Andrea shook her head, staring up at Laura with wide brown eyes. “No. I’m okay.” She said quietly. “I just want to get some breakfast, and this place is scary.”_

_“That’s just because it’s new, sweetheart.” Peter told his daughter. He gave Laura a helpless look, his eyes shining with unshed tears._

_Laura forced herself to smile back, to reassure the beta. It was her job now, as the pack alpha, to be in control at all times. Her mother had taught her that._

_In front of the restaurant, Peter knelt down and hugged Andrea tightly. “I’m so sorry.” He pulled back to look at her, running a hand over her hair._

_“Why are you sorry, Daddy?” Andrea smiled._

_Laura moved to stand between Cora and Andrea, the claws of her hands piercing the skin on the back of their necks._

__

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Peter slashed his claws across Julia Baccari’s throat and made sure she was dead before he went through the rift. On the other side, everything looked exactly the same. He smiled, running through the woods, to the house he knew all too well. Getting in and out was easy, he only had to make sure not to be seen in the same room as his alternate universe self, and he had no trouble picking Malia up and taking her through the front door._

__

_The hitch in the plan, as every plan seemed to have, was that his sister’s nephew was still inclined to follow him around and ask him a dozen questions. It didn’t matter what reality he was in, Mieczyslaw would always be inquisitive._

__

__

_“Yes, I’m taking Malia for a walk. No, you can’t come with me. Yes, the moon is full tonight, and yes, I did see it.” Peter answered the boy’s questions in order. “Go to bed.”_

__

__

_“I’m not tired, Uncle Pete!” Stiles protested._

__

__

_“Don’t call me Pete.” Peter sighed. He looked at Stiles’ brown eyes and thought of Andrea’s, and how the last time he had seen her, she was having her memories erased and rewritten, so that she would believe she had always been raised by Chris Argent. It was safer for her, and he didn’t want to bring Andrea into a world she already inhabited, so Malia was the one he could replace so readily. He didn’t want to think of it as kidnapping, though it was. He was still the girl’s father. In Peter’s reality, Stiles didn’t exist any longer. But he could. “Okay. You can come with us, but we have to hurry.”_

__

__

_Stiles nodded, reaching up to grab Peter’s hand as they walked through the woods._

__

__

_When they got to the remains of the nemeton, the rift had closed._

__

__

_Peter sank to his knees, staring at the empty air in front of them. He tightened his grip on Malia. “I can’t lose her. I can’t even keep her with me, I know it’s dangerous, but I can’t...”_

__

__

_“What’s wrong?” Stiles put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Can I help?”_

__

__

_“I don’t think so.” Peter sighed. “Mieczyslaw, I’ve done a bad thing.” He admitted, needing to talk to someone, anyone, and this boy was the only one who was always ready to listen. “I’m not your uncle. I mean, I’m not your uncle anyway, but I’m not the Peter you think I am.”_

__

__

_“I know.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “He’s asleep in his bed. I check on people sometimes, ‘cause my mom is sick and she talks in her sleep, and sounds sad. I wanna make sure nobody else is sad, you know?”_

__

__

_“But you came with me, anyway?” Peter wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or be angry with the child._

__

__

_“You took Malia, and she’s not yours.” Stiles pointed out. “So yeah, I was coming with you.”_

__

__

_“What would you have done if I was a kidnapper?” Peter snorted._

__

__

_“You **are** a kidnapper, dumbass.” Stiles folded his arms across his chest. _

__

__

_“Dumbass?” Peter echoed. “You’re ten, you shouldn’t say things like that.”_

__

__

_“Oh, what are you going to do, tell on me?” Stiles smirked. “Why are you crying? Is it because you realized you’re a dumbass?”_

__

__

_“Learn new words.” Peter suggested. He wasn’t sure how he had ended up in this situation, but he had nothing to lose. “I was crying because where I’m from, Malia is dead. I miss her a lot, and I wanted to see her again, so I came here to get her. I’m bringing her back with me. Or at least, that was the plan, but the way back to my world is gone.”_

__

__

_“What did it look like?” Stiles squinted, nodding as Peter described the rift and how it had opened. He closed his eyes, holding his hands out in front of him._

__

__

_Peter stared in disbelief as the rift opened again. “How did you do that?”_

__

__

_“I just believed that I could do it.” Stiles shrugged. “And I made it work.”_

__

__

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Laura gave her Uncle Noah an exhausted smile. “I know you lost him and Aunt Claudia in the fire.” She began. “But I can take his memory of coming through the rift. I can make him think he’s only ever been here. Peter wasn’t even going to bring him, but Mieczyslaw has a gift. He opened the rift all on his own, and it took a trained druid hours to do what your son can accomplish in minutes. If you don’t want to raise him, I’ll have to take him to a hospital or a police station, and they’re going to test him and see if they can locate his parents. They’re going to find you, and it’ll just raise more questions, so please, if you could-”_

__

_“Yes, I want to raise him.” Noah glanced to where the boy - his son, but not his son at all - was playing with a toy truck. “Whatever you have to do, just do it. I’ll figure out something to tell him, if I have to explain the scar on his neck.”_

__

__

_Laura nodded and walked over to Stiles, talking softly to him as she brought a hand to the back of his neck. She shook a little, overwhelmed, when he cried out from the pain she was causing him._

**

At two o’clock in the morning, Stiles stood on the balcony outside his hotel room. He rested his hands on the rail in front of him, looking down at the street below. Laura had promised to tell him everything, and she had definitely followed through on that promise. He was at war with himself. Fifteen years ago, Peter Hale had come through the rift and kidnapped him and Malia. Stiles’ own father, or at least a reasonable variant of him, had raised him. Malia had been raised by Deucalion, but Peter kept a close watch on Stiles and Malia, as they grew up. 

“I can’t sleep, either.” Allison gave Stiles a hopeful smile from the doorway. “Can I come out there and talk to you, for a little while? Or we could just stare at the city. There’s a lot to think about.” 

Stiles nodded, moving aside a little to make room for her. “It’s so weird. We’re both related to Laura Rayne, CEO, just on different sides. I spent my college years working my ass off to keep my scholarship, you put yourself through two colleges, and she’s in charge of probably a hundred different businesses. Or more.” 

“I don’t envy her.” Allison shook her head, smiling. She watched a bike messenger pass their building. “Thirty-third floor.” She murmured. 

“Yeah. Everybody looks like ants. They’re all going to work, or coming home. Going for a drink.” Stiles looked at Allison, snorting. “They don’t know that there’s a doorway into a different world, and that I fucking opened it.” 

“And you can fucking close it.” Allison nodded. “If Laura took our memories, can she give them back?” 

“Maybe.” Stiles bit his lip. “But I don’t want her to. I don’t want to remember exactly what it was that made me consciously choose to leave my mom and dad and come here. Or, alternatively, that Peter Hale came into my world and kidnapped me. Like Peter Pan.” 

“That’s my biological father you’re talking about.” Allison smiled, but it faded quickly. “When we go back, my dad is going to know that I know. And so is Peter. How am I supposed to look at him, now? How am I supposed to protect him? I thought it was a dad’s job to protect his daughter, not the other way around.” 

“Well, to be fair?” Stiles sighed shakily. “He did. He was terrified and angry, and he knew he was going to kill Kate for what she did. He gave you to Chris because he trusts him implicitly, and he probably...” He licked his lips. “From what I’ve learned about Peter, he put you in a home that would seem high-risk to anyone else, but he’s a manipulative son of a bitch. If Kate came after you, Chris would have killed her, and that would have solved Peter’s problem. Anyway, Peter isn’t your dad. He’s your father. Chris is your dad. That didn’t change, okay?” 

“What is it like?” Allison blurted. “Sorry. Just... Noah Stilinski raised you, but he’s not even your dad. Genetically and through nurturing, but...” 

“But I have no memory of living in Beacon Hills, even though I did, and the other me died there. I shouldn’t even be here. I could walk through that rift and go home. Seal it shut and that would be the end of it.” 

“But - well, are you going to?” Allison asked softly. “You’ve done a lot of good things, here. I know you have. I checked up on you while you were checking up on me. And I don’t care that you’re related to Laura and Derek on one side and I’m related to them on the other, you and I are cousins. I didn’t have a whole lot of family before today, and I gained and lost them all at once. Including you. Both ways, I guess. Do you think he’s buried in Beacon Hills, somewhere?”

“No.” Stiles shook his head. “They would’ve reversed that, if it had been public record. I wouldn’t have been able to do everything I’ve done, if searching my name just brought up a bunch of results about a dead ten year old.” He yawned. “We should sleep. We have to be up in a few hours, anyway. What do you think Jackson and Lydia had to talk to Laura and Derek about?” 

“He’s probably asking them for a position in the company.” Allison grinned. “He’s so money-hungry. Lydia probably just wants to know where Laura shops.” 

**

“Try it again.” Laura told Jackson. “You can’t be out here forever and you’re going to have to get control of your shift before you can go back to Beacon Hills.” 

“Is it even possible to have a nationwide pack?” Jackson grumbled.

“Worldwide.” Derek corrected, smiling. “Laura’s ambitious.” 

“Well, I’m in good company, then.” Jackson flexed his fingers, laughing in surprise when his claws finally extended. 

“Again.” Erica smiled. “One time doesn’t count as getting it.” 

“Why are you here, exactly?” Jackson frowned. 

“Because I wanted her to be here.” Laura spoke calmly. “You’re new, so don’t make the mistake of thinking that you’re replacing anyone. I don’t need you as much as you need me, and I can release you from my pack without any regrets. Apologize to Erica and try to shift, using only your hands, one more time.” 

“I’m sorry.” Jackson took a deep breath. His claws receded, and he flexed his fingers again, letting them resurface. 

“Again?” Erica asked Laura. 

Laura nodded. “Again, Jackson.” She circled around him, thinking. “Maybe we made a mistake, offering the bite to you. Maybe I should have asked Stiles.” 

“He told Peter he doesn’t want the bite!” Jackson protested. “You’d be wasting your time, even if he did want it. He’s not a team player.” 

“And you are?” Derek shook his head, smiling. 

“I’m willing to try. Your cousin is a useless -” Jackson flinched when Laura lashed out suddenly, her claws raking his skin. 

“Humility.” Laura remarked, wiping blood off of her hands with the tissue Erica handed her. “Thank you. Jackson, what’s your biggest flaw?” 

“Pride.” Derek answered, grinning at his sister. 

“Did I ask you?” Laura shook her head at him. “Jackson. Answer me.” 

“Um.” Jackson winced at a fresh wave of pain from Laura’s claws. “Please stop! I can’t think when you do that!” 

“Do you think that a hunter will show you mercy?” Laura asked. “Didn’t we just get done telling you, a few hours ago, that a hunter murdered most of our family members, whether they were human or werewolf?” 

“Yes.” Jackson whimpered. “It hurts.” 

“Do you know what hunters do to omega werewolves, for fun?” Laura faced Jackson. “Look at me. I want to know that you’re listening. They tie them, hands over their heads, to a tree branch. And then they get a big, sharp weapon. Maybe a sickle. They cut right through the werewolf’s midsection. I’ve seen them do it. Sometimes, if they cut low enough, the omega doesn’t die.” 

Jackson flinched. 

“What’s your biggest flaw, Jackson?” Laura asked again, her voice softer this time. She hated having to sound like a cold bitch, but she needed to make him understand, and she wasn’t going to be able to do that over milk and cookies. 

“I think I’m untouchable.” Jackson gulped. “I know that I’m really not. I hate looking weak and vulnerable. I want to punch you, actually. I drive a Porsche on weekends. I only really like it because it’s expensive. I give Stiles a lot of crap about where he buys his suits, but it’s not like we’re doing anything most of the time. Just sitting at our desks and reading or writing reports.” 

“Sell the Porsche.” Laura commanded. “And donate your expensive suits.” 

“Why?” Jackson blurted, recoiling when Laura snarled at him. “Okay, okay! I can do that. I’ll do that.” 

“Go open the door.” Laura told Erica. “Let her in.” 

Erica smiled and walked across the room, opening the door and motioning to Lydia. “It’s time.” 

Lydia smiled back hesitantly and walked over to Laura. ‘You really believe I can do this?” 

“I know that you can.” Laura nodded. “Do it.” 

“Why, though?” Lydia looked frustrated. “You haven’t told me anything. You had all of the answers that Stiles and Allison wanted, but none for me.” 

“You’re a banshee. The RFID chip wouldn’t work on you.” Laura cleared her throat. “When a person has heart problems, sometimes they need a pacemaker, and you’re not supposed to do certain things, because it disrupts the signal. It’s an electronic device that works with your biology, or physiology, or something. I don’t really understand all of the details. I had the idea, but someone else had to make it work. Werewolves track through scent and sound, and they can tell when a pack member is close. So our chips have what’s essentially a little bit of werewolf DNA, but not enough to alter a person and make them a werewolf. That being said, it wouldn’t work on you because you’re immune to it. If you had it implanted, it would just fail. Earlier tonight, Jackson screamed and you reacted. I think you two share a connection and I want to see if I’m right. He’s having some trouble shifting. Scream. See what it does.” 

Lydia hesitated. “But won’t that just scare people?”

“Soundproofing.” Derek gestured to the walls. “It’ll be fine.” 

Lydia nodded. She thought of her irritation earlier in the day, and how she had been so angry and overwhelmed that she had pointed a gun at her ex-boyfriend to get someone to listen to her. She poured all of that energy into her lungs and released it in a scream that was so loud and sharp, she blacked out from the strength of it. 

Jackson put his hands over his ears, dropping to the floor instinctively, in an effort to get away from the noise. Instead of fur, his full shift resembled a giant lizard, and venom dripped from his fangs as he looked up at Lydia and Laura. 

“Well, shit.” Laura muttered.

~~~***~~~

**Soundtrack:**  
**Joydrop - Strawberry Marigold**  
**Joydrop - If I Forget**


End file.
